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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25695922">The M Word</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GaySarahK/pseuds/GaySarahK'>GaySarahK</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sonic the Hedgehog (Video Games), Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Character Death Fix, Emotional, First Person Narrator, Gen, Immortality, Isolation, Lack of Communication, Moving On, My First AO3 Post, Present Tense, Semi-Canonical Character, Social Anxiety, Speculation, What-If</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:46:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>34,228</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25695922</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GaySarahK/pseuds/GaySarahK</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Maria didn't really die in the raid?<br/>Maria is reunited with her childhood friend, but not everything is perfect and rosy.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A Certain Someone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I come across an observatory. I run my hand across the railing, as I've done in so many rooms exactly like it. It's not dented on the bottom, just before the second leg, as though an errant bullet had struck it in a raid so long ago. The glass isn't scratched, as though someone broke countless pencils against it, not yet knowing his own strength. The name next to the terminal doesn't say 'Robotnik', as though a great scientist by that name once worked here. The observatory is not filled with love and warmth and companionship, as though a hedgehog literally made for me is here. This is not the right place; I backtrack, and move on.</p><p>I'd lost track of how long it had been, long before the cannon came online. Quite a bit of commotion happened after that, but it seems like things worked out. The moon hasn't been the same, but I just hope no one was living on it. Not long after that, the cannon came online again, to destroy the comet. That was fifty years. Since then, I've lost track of time again.</p><p>I've been lost for so long. Every day, I do nothing but search for anywhere I might find someone else. I know Shadow had to activate the cannon.</p><p>Grandfather made Shadow to save my life, but I didn't want <em>this</em>. He was supposed to be a cure to my disease; I guess he must have been much more than just that. When I sent Shadow to Earth, we both thought I was dying. We couldn't have been more wrong.</p><p>I still have no idea where I am. I look at the room designation. I'm on deck 87, section Rho, lift station 14. I look at the map on the wall. "You are here." Now I know exactly where I am: I am lost, as always.</p><p>Where is the observatory I used to play in? Where is the arboretum I used to walk in? Where is the med-bay I used to wake up in? Where is the grandfather I used to trust in? Where is the hedgehog I used to confide in?</p><p>Only in my memories, it would seem.</p><p>A little after the cannon fired the first time, I thought I saw something blur by, across the debris, through a window. I thought, for just a moment, it might have been him. Whoever, or whatever, I thought I saw... it was too blue to have been him. I spent what might have been months, searching where I thought he might have gone. It didn't work out; I can't find anything in here.</p><p>Before I got lost, I read stories of a Greek hero, Theseus. In one of them, he entered a maze that was so complex, it was said to be impossible to find the exit. The maze was there to hold a monster, and Theseus went in to kill it. I didn't like that story very much, all that long ago. Theseus used string to mark where he had been, and where he came from. Whenever I go into a room, I mark down certain information, to help me find my way. Every time I write a letter on the wall, I think about Theseus, and the monster he set out to slay. It's been a long time--a very, very long time--and I've had a lot of time to think about that story. If there is anything in all the universe that I hate, it's that story. I can't even remember what the maze was called.</p><p>I find another pantry. Years ago, or tens or hundreds of years ago, I realized that I don't need to eat anymore. At least, not very much, as long as I haven't been injured. Not eating helps me avoid... certain problems, too, so I usually avoid it altogether. I backtrack, and put a red circle by the door.</p><p>GUN stopped sending people up here a long time ago. Now, there are just robots. The beetles are more advanced, and now they have man-shaped robots, too. As advanced as the robots are, though... I still can't get through to them. They just keep shooting at me. They've never been good with defense, though: one solid hit and they're useless. Since the raid, I've gotten stronger; it didn't take long before I was strong enough to land that one solid hit. I've tried taking them apart, to see if they might have something that would help me contact someone outside. They're not remote-controlled or anything; there's nothing like that. I've tried to make a communication device on my own, but... I never learned how radios work. I'd need an example to learn from.</p><p>The floating blue creatures Grandfather made are still around. They're trickier than the GUN units: I'd have to aim for the head. Even then, I can't bring myself to do it. No matter how hard I try, I can't help but think that they're alive, somehow. They look sad. I suppose that I do, too. I mostly just try to avoid them. After all, they're not hurting anyone... not anymore.</p><p>I spend all my time going through the ARK, room by room, in the hopes of finding something familiar. The loneliness is familiar. The feeling of being lost is familiar. The sad look in the eyes of the blue creatures is familiar. The smell of metal and gun plasma is familiar. The cold, all-too-clean air is familiar. The girl I see, reflected from almost every surface I look at... is so strange, and so foreign, yet so, so familiar.</p><p>On the one hand, I know her face is my face. I know that the reflection I see is how I look on the outside. On the other hand, that girl is so much younger than I am. She must not have fought a thousand battles, as she has no scars. She must not have carried burdens for many years, as her face has no wrinkles. I look at her, and I know that she can't be me. I know her face is my face, but it can't be.</p><p>I come across an observatory. I run my hand across the railing, as I've done in so many rooms exactly like it. It's dented on the bottom, just before the second leg, as though an errant bullet had struck it in a raid so long ago. The glass is scratched, as though someone broke countless pencils against it, not yet knowing his own strength. The name next to the terminal says 'Robotnik', as though a great scientist by that name once worked here. The observatory is not filled with love and warmth and companionship, as though a hedgehog literally made for me is here. This is the right place; I will wait here for someone to come.</p><p>The blue planet below continues to spin. This time, I won't lose track of time. I pick a continent, whose name I never learned, and I draw a rough outline on the glass. I stare, and I wait, until the continent lines up again. I draw a line on the wall. I continue to wait, until the land lines up with the marking once more. I draw a line on the wall. This continues for a while. It doesn't seem long, but maybe that's relative.</p><p>The door slides open. I look, and a black hedgehog stands in the opening. He looks just like I remember. He looks, and a blonde girl stands in the observatory. I look just like he remembers. He looks like he's seen a ghost. Maybe he has.</p><p>No, he hasn't.</p><p>Ghosts don't cry--not real tears.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Ghosts don't Cry Real Tears</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There were a million things I had wanted to say to him, and now I can't remember any of them. I try to speak, but it's been so long... I can't remember how. My vision is filled with tears. I blink them away, and he has already knocked me to the ground.</p><p>He's on top of me, baring his teeth, growling. "JUST WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!?" he shouts through tears of his own.</p><p>"D..." I stammer, trying to remember how to make my mouth work. "Don't you re... recognize me? It's me, Ma..."</p><p>His spines flare, standing on end. He puts his hand over my mouth. He's incredibly strong--so much stronger than me--but he's still gentle. I can't speak, but the force pushing my face into my teeth almost doesn't hurt. "DON'T YOU DARE!" he screams. "DON'T YOU DARE SAY HER NAME!"</p><p>Of course.</p><p>The last time he saw me, I had an incurable, terminal illness. His blood was the only thing keeping me alive. Even if I hadn't died from the gunshot wound, the NIDS would've killed me a long, long time ago. Even if I somehow managed to survive, that wouldn't explain why I haven't aged a day. Of course, his blood is <em>still</em> the only thing keeping me alive. He doesn't have the experience I have, seeing the proof of the pudding for himself. As far as he's known, the infusions were just postponing the inevitable.</p><p>Some of the people evacuated. Some of them were taken prisoner. Most of them were killed, and their bodies carried away. A few of them... GUN didn't look hard enough to find their bodies. I'm not sure what happened with me... the days or weeks after the raid are very much a blur. Maybe they misidentified someone, or maybe they just buried an empty casket. Either way, there would've been a funeral. I was legally declared dead <em>decades</em> ago, at least.</p><p>I've spent so long, carrying grief and longing in my heart. <em>I</em> knew that we were both still alive, so I had hope that we might see each other again. Shadow... Shadow didn't have that hope. I guess the loss he felt is still a sore spot. He has every reason to believe I'm dead. So, the girl he sees in front of him must be an impostor.</p><p>If I tell him the truth, he won't believe it. If I tell him a lie, it won't accomplish anything. I spent so, so, so long trying to get to my friend. Now that I've finally found him.. he's further away than he's ever been. I realize there's absolutely nothing I can say. Now... now I finally know what it's like to feel complete and total hopelessness.</p><p>The stream of joyful tears I had just moments ago is replaced by a river of sorrowful ones. With every breath, my body trembles, trying to break down into sobs. There's no point in fighting it: not anymore.</p><p>Shadow takes his hand from my mouth. He's just kneeling there, looking at me. I've never seen him make that look before. It's like the look he made whenever he realized that he'd hurt me by accident, but it isn't the same. It looks a bit less worried, and more... distant, more confused. When we were young, he'd always say he was sorry, and that he didn't mean to. But he <em>did</em> mean to, this time. He meant to lash out, and I can't fault him for it: he doesn't even know it's really me. He doesn't know what to say any more than I do.</p><p>That doesn't make me feel any better.</p><p>Shadow gets off of me. He quietly says a word that I'm sure would be unladylike to repeat. That one word fills the room, with my own sobbing, to perfectly express the emotions we share. A few very long moments pass, in what is otherwise silence.</p><p>"Are you... alone?" he asks.</p><p>Oh yes. I am alone. I am so very, completely, extremely alone. I try to answer him, but I'm overwhelmed and I can't manage the words. Finally, I just sit up and nod my head.</p><p>He never takes his eyes off me as he grabs a small device and works it. "Rouge," he says, "I need you to come to the ARK."</p><p>"Where on it?" I hear a distant-yet-close woman's voice answer back, "your usual brooding spot?"</p><p>Shadow has his eyes trained on me. If I ran away, he could chase me down. I think he's more afraid that I might disappear completely. "Yes. But <em>please</em>," he replies, "leave the sass at the door."</p><p>"All right, all right, anything else?"</p><p>"Yeah. Bring some tissues." He puts the device away.</p><p>I look at him. I don't know what I'm expecting.</p><p>He looks at me. I don't know what he's expecting, either.</p><p>"I..." he starts, but stops. At least a half-minute passes. "I'm sorry."</p><p>I nod. I know how he feels.</p><p>Still, I can hardly stop myself from crying. Decades of isolation and loneliness... it builds up. I hadn't realized just how badly I needed this. I know he's not the best at consoling, but... I wish that he'd try. But I know that he won't. He still doesn't trust me. He's afraid of what it would mean. So, I'm alone.</p><p>Alone, that is, until Rouge arrives. The door slides open, to show a white bat carrying a box of tissues. "I wasn't sure how much you needed, so I've got more in--" she says, before she sees me. "Oh, wow." She kneels down next to me, opens the box, and offers me the first sample of its wares.</p><p>I nod in gratitude as I make quick work of it.</p><p>"Who do we have here?" she asks Shadow.</p><p>"She... hasn't said her name," he says.</p><p>"What did you DO to this poor girl?"</p><p>"I..." he stammers. He doesn't seem to have any plan to finish the thought. He just looks... guilty, and defeated.</p><p>I blow my nose with a third tissue. "Nothing," I manage to work out between sobs. I'd thought, for sure, that I was too old to cry like this. "He's done nothing wrong."</p><p>"Well," she says, "you'll be okay. You're safe now." She sits down next to me and very lightly puts a hand on my knee.</p><p>Shadow sits on the floor in the nearest corner.</p><p>I nod. Aside from the brief contact with Shadow, this is the first physical contact I've had with another living person since the raid. I might have been regaining my composure, but the soft, warm comfort of her touch is bringing back so many emotions. I just start bawling all over again.</p><p>It continues that way for quite some time. Rouge continues to offer hollowly-comforting lines. Shadow sits in the corner, hugging his knees to his chest, staring at me with a look that expresses too many emotions for one face. I sit here, thinking that I might be done crying, trying to say something, and getting overwhelmed all over again. It's been so many years, and I've had so much building up inside me for this whole time. As inconvenient as it is, I really, <em>really</em> need this. Rouge seems to understand that. It seems to me that Shadow doesn't understand it, but he respects it nonetheless.</p><p>Eventually, Shadow took his eyes off of me long enough to see the marks I put on the glass and walls. I see him count up my tally marks by groups of five. His expression changes. He knows what they mean. He goes back to staring at me.</p><p>At one point, he pulls out his communicator and does something with it, glancing at it only long enough to see what he's doing. He puts it away, and I hear a small vibration coming from one of Rouge's pockets. Rouge ignores it, and Shadow isn't troubled by this. Some kind of instantaneous mailing system, no doubt.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. No Doubt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Eventually, I just reach a point where I know I'm done crying. "Thank you," I say to both of them. "I've just been alone for so long."</p><p>"You poor thing," says Rouge. "I'm sure we'll have quite a few questions we'd like to ask you, but I suppose you'll want something to drink before answering them."</p><p>I am, in fact, extremely thirsty now. "That would be very nice, please," I say.</p><p>"Shadow, do you--" Rouge begins to ask, but is interrupted by Shadow getting up and walking out.</p><p>"Sure," he says. "Don't tell her anything while I'm gone."</p><p>It isn't clear which of us he was talking to. I think that was on purpose.</p><p>"I was going to ask if he wanted anything," Rouge complains. She looks at her communicator. "Has he just spent the last two hours waiting for any excuse to leave?" I see her input a code into her device, with the swift, methodical motions of a password. She takes a moment to read something before she puts the device away.</p><p>Maybe he wants to get something he knows I'll like. Maybe he wants to get something he knows I <em>won't</em> like. Maybe he just doesn't want to be left alone with me. Regardless, I can't mention it to Rouge. It would involve telling her something while Shadow is gone.</p><p>"Well, the good news is that he's quick," she comments, trying to fill the quiet of the room. She helps me back up to my feet. "He's going to need a good excuse if he's not back on the double."</p><p>Rouge has hardly finished talking when Shadow returns, carrying three plastic bottles. One was cola, one was "diet" cola, and one was strawberry lemonade. He goes to offer me first pick of the drinks, with the diet cola as the most convenient option. I raise an eyebrow at him. If this is a test, he's going to need to try harder. I take the strawberry lemonade.</p><p>He tilts his head very slightly in acknowledgement while he hands the diet cola to Rouge.</p><p>We each open our respective bottles and start to drink.</p><p>"So," Rouge asks, "what's your name? How did you end up here?"</p><p>"Right. My name is Mar-" I begin, as I notice the look of fearful expectation on Shadow's face, "-issa," I seamlessly lie. "As for how I got here... I've been on the ARK for as long as I can remember." There's no point in lying more than I have to, after all.</p><p>"I'm Rouge the Bat," she replies, "and the grumpy one in the corner is Shadow the Hedgehog." She holds out her hand, about waist-height, halfway between us. "How far back <em>can</em> you remember?" Rouge asks.</p><p>I shake her hand; I suppose the custom has become a bit more common. I pause a moment, to come up with a way to answer the question truthfully, without giving away too much information. The challenge and the solution, in this case, are the same: I don't know how long it's been. "... how long ago did the Black Comet come back?"</p><p>Rouge nearly chokes on her drink. She and Shadow both look horrified. "You poor thing! Lost and alone up here ever since then?"</p><p>I nod.</p><p>"Do you have any family, or somebody else we can call?"</p><p>"I don't think so. I might have a few extended relatives, but no one you could call."</p><p>Rouge turns to Shadow. "Can we keep her?"</p><p>The moment Rouge starts to turn, Shadow's expression is replaced with a look of distrust. "It depends on what she really is," he says. "Remember, we don't know if anything she says is true. She might be a spy, or an android, or any number of other things."</p><p>"Gynoid, technically," I remark.</p><p>"Oh, pooh," Rouge says to Shadow, "don't be such a wet blanket."</p><p>Shadow raises an eyebrow at me.</p><p>"Gynoid means woman-like; android means man-like. Of course, the point is completely unimportant. If we're going to pursue avenues of possibility, though... we might as well do it right. I'm not going to deny the <em>possibility</em> that I'm a robot, but it'd be a surprise to me. Who programs a robot to cry, anyway?"</p><p>"Eggman," Shadow coldly replies, "if he thinks it'll accomplish something."</p><p>"Yeesh," Rouge expresses, "we can just have the lab boys run some tests on her to verify that she's real, if it helps put an end to this nonsense. You know all I have to do is ask the right way, and Tom will bend over backwards for me."</p><p>"Hmph," Shadow disapproves.</p><p>"Look, we'll take her to the beta house and keep an eye on her while we get all this sorted out, all right?"</p><p>"We <em>did</em> change the authorization code from there, right?"</p><p>"<em>I</em> did, yes."</p><p>"Right, fine."</p><p>They take me to a nearby room on the ARK. It used to be a research lab, but it's been outfitted with some kind of device. The device includes a low, circular platform. Shadow steps onto the platform while Rouge begins to access a nearby control panel. "Hop on," she says. "Be sure to breathe out before the teleport kicks in."</p><p>I step onto the platform, and Rouge follows. The device begins to whir and hum. I breathe out. A pillar of light comes up around us, momentarily blinding us to the room beyond. I get a sensation like my lungs freezing over, but it lasts only a moment. The light stops, and warm, refreshing air forces its way into my lungs. Either the teleportation device followed us here, or there is another one, exactly like it, in this room. When my eyes adjust, I see a well-furnished apartment suite.</p><p>I don't know how to describe it, except to say that the room is <em>warm</em>. I don't mean that the room is hot, but that it's <em>warm</em>. I suppose the only way I can explain it is to contrast it to the cold, hard, sterile environment on the ARK. I was never allowed to go down to the surface, because of the various diseases. The smallest infection could kill me, so it was a risk my grandfather expressly forbade. As far back as I can remember, until this very moment, all I've known are glass and metal. Now, as I step off the platform, I hardly see any of either.</p><p>"I'm afraid there aren't any windows," Rouge says, "but there are a few skylights, so you're not completely out of time. You'll be in the bedroom down there, and the bathroom's on the left." She points with her thumb behind her. "The kitchen is in there; feel free to get something to eat. I'm thinking you'll want a chance to freshen up and change into some real clothes. So check out your room, raid the closet, and get a shower. If you want. I'll be going shopping; do you want me to get anything while I'm out?"</p><p>There is no hesitation. In a heartbeat, I say, "If you come across any lilac-scented shampoo, I wouldn't say no." I can <em>hear</em> the smile in my voice. "Thank you for the offer!"</p><p>Rouge smiles at me and says, "Such manners."</p><p>"And thank you, too, Shadow. If it weren't for you, I'd still be alone up there."</p><p>He shrinks away a bit. This is obviously a lot for him to process. It's a lot for me to process, too. I'm sad that we can't just go right back to being best friends, but... I understand. It's been a long time.</p><p>"I <em>do</em> mean that," I say. I spent a while in that observatory, just waiting for him. If he hadn't come back to the observatory, I would've been up there forever. Regardless of anything else, that wouldn't be nice. Now, in this warm apartment, I feel like everything will work out. This feels like a place where people can live happily ever after.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Happily Ever After?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>During my shower, I can hear Shadow and Rouge talking. I can't make out what they're saying, but it sounds like an argument. Despite this, I enjoy the shower a lot. The ARK might have been a sterile environment, but there was a sterile filth all over me. It felt so amazing to get rid of it all. I hadn't realized just how much luxury there is in a simple hot shower. When I finally come out, I take the time to blow-dry and comb my hair.</p><p>I put on the outfit I picked out: a cobalt-blue shirt with white pants. I originally reached for a more robin's-egg blue, but I realized it might be hard on Shadow to see me wearing that. There was a distinct lack of skirts or dresses in the closet. From what I can see, it looks like women tend to wear pants now. I've been wearing pants for quite a while, myself, but... if I'm really supposed to wear a dress, I get the idea that Rouge will buy me one. At least for now, this outfit will be more than sufficient.</p><p>I step out of the bathroom and I take another look at the warm, cozy apartment. I am suddenly aware of the carpet beneath my bare feet: not a rug, but actual carpet! I wiggle my toes with a little too much enjoyment. I admire the simplistic beauty of the texture along the walls and ceilings. I briefly bask in the graceful elegance of a large aspidistra in a corner.</p><p>The carpet stops at the edge of the dining room and is replaced by ceramic tile. I know it's the dining room because of the wooden table and chairs in the middle of it. Sitting in the furthest chair is a black hedgehog, reading a book. He turns his ears towards me, but he keeps his eyes on the page.</p><p>"I'm sorry I put you through the waterworks before," I say to him. "I just <em>really</em> needed to let some things out."</p><p>He lowers his eyes even further. He's not reading.</p><p>"Please, don't blame yourself."</p><p>He puts the book down, training his eyes on some imaginary point beyond the table. "Who are you <em>really</em>?"</p><p>"I <em><strong>know</strong></em> it's hard for you to accept, but my answer hasn't changed. You're afraid of believing in me, just to find out I'm a lie. You're still sore from the grief, and you're afraid that opening your heart will lead to more pain. I understand, at least a little; I lost <em>my</em> best friend, too. I just had hope, because I knew you were still alive."</p><p>"But it doesn't make any sense, either," he protests. "There's no rational explanation for how..." He doesn't finish the sentence, but I know how it ends.</p><p>"There is <em>one</em> that I've thought of," I say. "I've had a lot of time to think about it. I can share my hypothesis, when you're ready. Alternatively, I can try to do some experiments to test the hypothesis, but that would require a lab. I don't think I'm going to have access to a lab until this gets sorted out, am I?"</p><p>"No," Shadow says flatly. "You definitely won't. You might not have noticed yet, but the beta house doesn't have any windows or outside doors."</p><p>To say I'm surprised is an understatement. I'm not surprised that they took me here; I'm surprised that a place like this exists. What's the point of a house without doors? Is it really just a prison? It's too nice to be a prison. Regardless of why the place exists, why would they have the ability to just take me to it? From what I can guess, it only makes sense if they're agents of some kind. Even then, it doesn't quite line up. It's possible that they might have skipped some paperwork.</p><p>"I don't like keeping you here. If you honestly think you know a way to get you out of here faster, let us know. We've got a few strings we can pull, but we're not going to comply with anything suspicious."</p><p>"I see. It might be easier on you if I mainly go through Rouge. Is there anything I should keep hiding from her?"</p><p>"She's more observant than you've given her credit for. We've had a talk; she knows my side of the story already. Tell her anything you think will help."</p><p>"I see." Rouge seems like a nice woman, but she also seems prone to playful jabs. She also might have a tendency to get carried away. I'll still be careful about what I say to her. "In that case, I can write down some guidelines for a few experiments. Though the lab itself would also need to be able to keep some things quiet."</p><p>"No worries there," Shadow says.</p><p>"I haven't slept in a while, and I'd like to give that bed a try. Is there anything else you'd like to say or ask?"</p><p>"Yes," he says, finally taking his gaze off the table. It's hard for him, but he looks me in the eyes. He stares for a few seconds, trying to put the feelings into words. "I want to say... I'm sorry."</p><p>I want to give him a hug. I want to tell him that he never has to be sorry. I want to tell him how much he's so incredibly forgiven. He's not ready for that, yet.</p><p>"It's going to take time. I get that. I have a lot of time. The last however-long-it's-been has happened, and we can't change the past. All we can change is the present, and hope for a better future. I've asked so much of you, Shadow--too much--but I beg of you:" I'm tearing up again. "Promise me, when I wake up, I won't be alone on the ARK again."</p><p>Shadow looks like I just stabbed him in the heart. Maybe I did. I start to apologize, but he starts talking before I can.</p><p>"I promise."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Promise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bed is soft, warm, and comfortable, like a hug that won't let go. My dreams are full of glass and metal, but I can feel a warm presence with me all the while. After a short eternity, I wake up. The morning sun shines through the skylights. I'm not on the ARK. As I step into the bathroom, I see Rouge at the dining table, looking at her communicator. I'm not alone. I brush my teeth and comb my hair. I step into the living room. "Good morning, Agent Rouge," I test her.</p><p>She looks up, takes one glance at my outfit, and stifles a laugh. "Good morning, Miss Robotnik," she answers back.</p><p>So, she <em>is</em> an agent. <em>Also</em>, there's something funny about my outfit. There's a more pressing matter in the front of my mind to handle first. "Isn't that a bit premature?" I ask. "My identity hasn't been confirmed."</p><p>Rouge smirks. "You combed your hair. I took the liberty of pulling a sample and running an ancestry test against the Robotnik DNA we have on file. Tom said your heart definitely pumps Robotnik blood. You've got 72 high-volatility genetic markers in common with one Gerald Robotnik, and 16 in common with," She hesitates for a moment. "Ivo. The 72 is a bit higher than you'd expect, actually. Maybe one of your other grandparents might've been related to the family in another way; coincidences happen."</p><p>Ancestry test? Genetic markers? Fascinating. Does that mean Ivo is still around? Why do they have his DNA on file? Is that just common practice now? Or is he involved with them somehow? That would explain why she hesitated: maybe he has a nickname she usually uses--one that I wouldn't be familiar with. "Maybe, but... what about Shadow?" I ask.</p><p>"What about him?"</p><p>I need to verify, before I explain, "I'm guessing he's not here, right?"</p><p>"Not at the moment."</p><p>"Grandfather wanted to treat my NIDS with blood transfusions from Shadow. I was shot in the raid, but I recovered very quickly--too quickly. Since then, I've had a total of three seizures, of decreasing intensity, all within the first month. I've been getting stronger, and I feel healthier than I ever had before. I still don't know how long it's been, exactly, but the black comet came back, which means I'm at <em>least</em> in my sixties. I don't even look a <em>fourth</em> of my age. I haven't aged, I don't need to eat, I can't even develop scars--I have a stronger vitality than any normal human. I think the gunshot might have jump-started some kind of regeneration process. I think the simplest explanation is that Shadow's blood still runs in my veins."</p><p>"You mean to tell me that you've been alone on the ARK ever since the <em>raid</em>?!?"</p><p>"Yeah," I sheepishly reply. "I've lost track of time since the comet came back, but I could figure out the exact time it's been if I knew that. That's why I asked, before."</p><p>She pauses. "I see. So, in theory, we'd want to run ancestry tests for the Robotnik <em>and</em> the Hedgehog side."</p><p>"That's right!" I say, impressed with the bat's intelligence and focus. "Black Arms DNA is broken down into a large number of relatively-small chromosomes. I should have small chromosomes that match up with Shadow, and larger ones that say I'm... well, me. You can use gel electrophoresis to separate the chromosomes by size."</p><p>She looks at me with a combination of disbelief and surprise.</p><p>"Grandfather was a very skilled geneticist, you know. He told me about gel electrophoresis once. I also remember overhearing him mention a new gel they were trying out... acrylamide gels. I know because if I called them acrylic gels, I 'mide' be wrong. It's a bit silly, but... I remembered it, didn't I?"</p><p>She looks down at her communicator, and starts pushing buttons. "How do you spell electrophoresis?" she asks.</p><p>I tell her.</p><p>She pushes one button for each letter. "And acrylamide?"</p><p>I tell her. She pushes one button for each letter, and continues to push more. A few moments pass by, and she looks at me with just a hint of awe. "Tom says acrylamide gels have become the standard. I guess genius really <em>does</em> run in the family."</p><p>So, Ivo <em>has</em> made a name for himself with this group. "So you'll do it?"</p><p>"Seems reasonable enough. If it'll help verify who you are, we might as well do it."</p><p>I smile. "Thank you very much, Miss Rouge." It will be good to have confirmation, finally, of my theories. "Of course, we'll need more than just <em>my</em> DNA to prove I'm really me. I'm... guessing I have a grave out there somewhere. If there's someone buried in it..." I have a hard time finishing the sentence. I might not be as sensitive as I used to be, but the thought is still a little horrible.</p><p>"We'd need to confirm that they're <em>not</em> a Robotnik?" Rouge offers.</p><p>I nod.</p><p>"That won't be the easiest thing in the world," she says, "but if everything else pans out, I'll see what I can do."</p><p>"Thank you very much."</p><p>"Of course," she says. "Any friend of Shadow's is a friend of mine."</p><p>"It might be best not to rush into that too quickly," I remind her. "He doesn't want to admit that I might be alive."</p><p>"True," she admits. She wants to follow it up with something, but it's clear that she doesn't quite have the words. It seems that she eventually decides not to say anything else on the subject.</p><p>"So," I say, changing topics, "since you know I'm not up on the latest fashion... what's so funny about my outfit?"</p><p>She laughs. "There's a certain blue hedgehog who loves to drive Shadow crazy. They're sort of rivals, you could say, and you're basically wearing the wrong team's colors. It's just a fun bit of irony, is all."</p><p>Rivals? "How could there be anyone to rival Shadow?"</p><p>Rouge smiles. "He's fast," she says, matter-of-factly. "He's even pulled off Chaos Control. No one knows how or why he's like that. He's also very competitive and likes to push Shadow's buttons. Sometimes they like to out-race each other."</p><p>I pause. "When someone fired the Eclipse Cannon at the moon... was he involved in the events that followed?"</p><p>"Yeah, he was," Rouge says. "That whole ordeal is how he and Shadow and I met, actually. Why do you ask?"</p><p>"Around that time, I thought I saw something rush across the ARK, through a window. For just a moment, I thought it might've been Shadow, but it was too blue."</p><p>Rouge laughs. "There's another bit of irony for you. Everyone kept mistaking Shadow for Sonic. I'm sure, under other circumstances, he'd be happy to hear it went the other way around for once."</p><p>"Sonic, hm? I caught a glimpse of a presumably-three-hundred-forty-four-meters-per-second blur, and even I could tell it wasn't Shadow. How could anyone mix them up?"</p><p>"I don't know," Rouge says. "It seems pretty silly in retrospect."</p><p>I smile and shrug. "Either way, I'm going to go change. Any other colors I should avoid?"</p><p>"<em>Maybe</em> red," she comments off-hand. "Oh, wait, that reminds me! I found an adorable dress while I was out, and I'd like to see you try it on, if that's all right. I got you a few other clothes, but you'll know the one I'm talking about when you see it. Everything is in those bags over there," she points, "except the shampoo, which I've put in the bathroom."</p><p>"Thank you so much!" I try to say, but my voice cracks as I start to break down crying. She's been so nice to me, and I've gotten so used to fending for myself. I've spent so long trying to get my friend back, I've forgotten what it's like to actually have one.</p><p>"Hey, what's wrong?" she asks. "Are you okay?"</p><p>"Sorry, it's just," I manage to say as she guides me to the couch, "no one's given me anything in so long: decades."</p><p>Rouge sits down next to me and takes my hand. "Well, no one's been there, but they would've if they had." She says it like it's supposed to be reassuring.</p><p>"You don't need to remind me," I say. I can hear anger and derision in my voice. It clearly hurt my feelings more than I thought.</p><p>"I'm sorry," she says, realizing I didn't take it the way she meant. "I just meant that you're a really wonderful person, and you deserve it. You're smart, you're adorable, and might have the kindest heart of anyone I've met. I count myself lucky to have the chance to give you something."</p><p>When she decides to offer praise, she offers a lot, it seems. It took a few moments for the warmth of her hand to work its way through her glove, but I can feel it now. I'm reminded of how most of the time we've spent together was just like this: her comforting me while I cry about my isolation. Any hope I had of maintaining my composure is gone now.</p><p>"I'm the one who should be sorry," I say, in what I can only hope is something she can understand. "You've been so incredibly kind to me, and I can't do anything. I haven't done a single thing for you, and you've been so perfect."</p><p>Rouge gives me a warm, sincere smile. No, that's not quite right. That smile isn't for me: it's for her. Maybe I'm the one who gave <em>her</em> the smile. I must have said something right.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Something Right</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I have another cry. I let it all out before, but there's still more, somehow. Rouge is there for me, again.</p><p>At one point, I hear a small vibration from Rouge's pocket, just like before. She removes her communicator and brings it close to her face. She enters the password and reads something. She composes a short message, then puts the communicator away.</p><p>Just like last time, there comes a point when I know that I'm done. It doesn't take as long this time, and I still feel so much better when I'm done. Certain feelings seem to wash away: despair, guilt, and fear. It's not right to say that I find more hope, so much as I lose un-hope.</p><p>"I mean it, you know," I say to Rouge.</p><p>"Mean what?" she asks. I'm not sure if she doesn't know what I mean, or if she just wants to hear me say it again.</p><p>Either way, I say, "You've been absolutely, perfectly kind to me. I appreciate it so much. I wish I knew something I could do to show you how much it means to me."</p><p>She smiles. "Well, for starters," she says as her smile becomes a mischievous smirk, "you could try on that dress."</p><p>I smile, give her a hug, and get up off the couch. "Yes, ma'am!" I take the bags and bring them into my room. One by one, I take the items out of the bags. Everything is in my size. A few of the items are so scandalous that I nearly drop them in horror; Rouge's taste in clothing is, of course, very different from my own. In addition to a few unmentionables, there are six pairs of socks, three skirts, four pairs of pants, six shirts, two pairs of shoes... and the dress.</p><p>The dress is a vibrant peacock-blue. The material is incredibly soft and shiny, and seems almost weightless. Maybe my memory is playing tricks on me, but it seems more likely that this is truly the most luxurious dress I've ever seen. I quickly and excitedly try it on.</p><p>It only comes down to just below my knees. I don't think I can wear a slip with this dress. It occurs to me that I haven't seen a slip in decades. Am I really supposed to go without one? I improvise by adding a pair of black pants before I slip on the matching heels. Before showing myself to Rouge, I step into the bathroom to take a quick look in the mirror.</p><p>I love it.</p><p>I bounce and twirl my way into the living room.</p><p>Rouge claps. "So, tell me what you think?"</p><p>"I have no words," I beam. "Tongue cannot tell."</p><p>"Well," she says, "I think you look absolutely radiant. That dress was quite the find, and it looks like it was made for you."</p><p>I nod. "I love it."</p><p>"You look like a beautiful jewel."</p><p>"I feel like one! And it's all thanks to you! Thank you so much!"</p><p>Rouge smiles. It doesn't last long, and she sighs. "I guess I'll have to tell Shadow it's safe to come back now."</p><p>I nod, my own smile fading a bit. "I guess I should change into something a bit more everyday."</p><p>Rouge takes out her communicator and begins to write her message. My heart sinks a little as I go to change clothes. I suppose I feel disappointed. Maybe I feel this way because I don't have an occasion to wear something so nice. I go into my room, I lock the door, and... I just stand there. I'd like to say that I'm thinking, but I'm not sure that I am. I'm just... steeping in my own feelings, trying to figure them out. It's like eating something whose wretched taste is overcome only by the need to identity the source of the offending flavor. I just stand there... tasting it.</p><p>I hear the teleporter whir. There's something about the sound that makes the taste worse. It's not an unpleasant sound, and I know it means Shadow has returned. I <em>like</em> Shadow. I enjoy the time we spend together, even now. In spite of this, the sound unpleasantly jolts me out of my steeping. Why? Why do I feel like this? I take off the dress, hang it up, put on a shirt, change shoes, and unlock the door. I take a slow breath and exit the room.</p><p>"So," I hear Rouge say to Shadow, "how did it go?"</p><p>Shadow stares at Rouge as he sets a small yellow box on the table. "I got what I needed."</p><p>"I still don't understand why you felt the need to pay the fox a visit, anyway," Rouge says. "Do either of you even know what to test for?"</p><p>He looks at Rouge, <em>hard</em>. "What did you learn?"</p><p>"Sheesh!" she exclaims, "you're <em>always</em> all about work. The girl thinks she has too much DNA, and has proposed an idea for how to sort it all out."</p><p>Shadow raises an eyebrow.</p><p>"She's got an explanation for the rest of it, too."</p><p>"And you believe it?"</p><p>"It makes as much sense as anything else from that crazy space station."</p><p>"Hmph."</p><p>With the exchange seemingly concluded, I chime in. "So, I'm guessing this is some kind of DNA collection kit? Needles, vials, and that kind of thing?"</p><p>"Cheek swab," says Shadow, opening the box.</p><p>"Oh?" I ask, "how does that work?"</p><p>"It's really straightforward," Rouge says. "The main trick is just to make sure that you haven't eaten anything before the sample is taken. Shadow, have you eaten anything in the last couple of hours?"</p><p>Shadow gives her a look that says 'Don't even think about it'.</p><p>"Look," she says, "just a basic demonstration so the kid knows what's gonna happen." Rouge takes a vial and a cotton swab from the box.</p><p>I decide it might be best not to point out that I'm older than either of them.</p><p>Shadow opens his mouth, and Rouge twists one head of the swab against the inside of his cheek. She puts the swab inside the vial, stoppers it, and uses a marker to label it "SH". "Just like that," she says, placing the vial in the box. "They lift the DNA from the sample."</p><p>... that wasn't just a demonstration. There's no doubt in my mind: she just collected Shadow's DNA as a reference. She's clever. I feel happy to know her. "Well, that seems like a piece of cake!"</p><p>"It is," she smiles. She takes another pair of supplies from the kit: it appears there are three in total. "Now open wide."</p><p>I go along with it, and the process is simple. The feeling of cotton on the inside of my mouth isn't pleasant, but it's better than getting blood drawn.</p><p>Rouge labels the vial with two question marks and puts it in the kit.</p><p>"Right! I need to start writing up those instructions! I guess I should make a second copy for the lab boys, huh? Since they're allowed a bit more of the specifics than this fox, and will be running separate tests?"</p><p>"No need," Rouge says. "Tom has his uses, but he's already run the basic ancestry test. If we want any real answers, we'll need to ask someone with some real intelligence and attention to detail. I can bring up a copy of the test Tom ran and the data he ran it against. A little black ink does wonders for what can go where."</p><p>Shadow leaves the room as Rouge is talking, and returns with a pen and paper. He sets them on the table, in front of me. Shadow pulls up a chair on the side of the table, sitting in it, as I do the same. He keeps his eyes trained on me, as long as I don't try to meet his gaze. He has no interest in what I'm going to write: he's steeping in his own feelings right now.</p><p>He's rather adamant about the idea that I'm an impostor, but I understand why. Some things seem too good to be true. I have the assurance that things aren't all sunshine and roses: I'm practically a prisoner here, even if I enjoy every minute of it. Somehow, Shadow's distrust surprised me. I hadn't considered the possibility that he might see me and assume I was a fraud. I was horrified by that, in the moment, but now I can see it as a good thing. The caged-ness and the distrust... I know what it really means. He still cares about me; he wants me back. If he had properly moved on, I wouldn't bother him as much as I do. If I had expected it... I couldn't be as sure as I am that it's really him. I could <em>entirely</em> expect, instead of half-expect, to wake up at any moment, once again lost and alone on the ARK. However, it was a surprise. I suppose I might not have given him a similar surprise. I don't know what anything like that would be. On the other hand, maybe I <em>am</em> a similar surprise.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. A Similar Surprise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I give the instructions a quick review, to ensure I haven't identified anyone involved in the process. I haven't. I neatly fold the paper into thirds, and set it down in front of the kit. There's a logo on the lid of the kit: two fox-tails set inside a gear. I suppose they might be anything, to be honest: they might be doves with orange heads, for all I know. Rouge mentioned a 'fox', though, so the connection seems clear enough. Why two, though? Is there a second fox?</p><p>I'd ask, but I have too many questions already, and some are simply more pressing. Some of them, I'm afraid it might be hard on Shadow to hear. He <em>does</em> still care about me, he's always wanted to protect me, and me asking what that darned maze was called is only going to make him wish he had been there. For the moment, I can't think of anything I want to ask. I'm sure that one of my many questions could be asked right now, but I can't think of one. "Well, I think it's time for me to tag out," Rouge says, seemingly to Shadow. She eyes the paper. "Finished already, then?"</p><p>I nod. "Yes, ma'am!" It feels strange to call her ma'am. Even though she's older--well, more adult, anyway--I suppose I'm coming to see her as an equal? Well, that's not quite right, either. What <em>is</em> this feeling?</p><p>She smiles, almost awkwardly. "All right. I'll take the instructions, give them a once-over, and take the samples back to Tails."</p><p>Tails, hm? I suppose the name matches the logo, but the question of why remains. Of course, the three of us alone make a rather unusual and motley crew, so perhaps I'm in no place to question.</p><p>"Marissa, I trust you'll be okay with Shadow for a while?"</p><p>"Of course. I'll be quite fine, thank you." I'm not sure why she felt the need to ask. Is she concerned about the dynamic between us? Or was she just poking fun at him? Or something in between, or something else entirely? I don't know what my feelings should be right now, and I don't think they do, either.</p><p>Rouge goes into the teleporter room. A few moments later, I hear the whir.</p><p>The room is quiet. The words spoken less than a minute ago seem to hang throughout the air. It's as though they were spoken lifetimes ago, yet still remain tauntingly unspoken.</p><p>I look at Shadow. We were friends, long ago. We loved each other, in the way that friends do. I still love him. Rather, I still love the person I knew, that long ago. He's not the same person now--not quite. He's been damaged: not physically, but emotionally. He's afraid to love again.</p><p>Shadow looks at me. We were friends, long ago. We loved each other, in the way that siblings do. He still loves me. Rather, he still loves the person he knew, that long ago. I'm not the same person now--not quite. I've been damaged: not physically, but emotionally. I'm afraid of being rejected.</p><p>That's it, isn't it? I'm afraid I'm not good enough anymore. I'm afraid Shadow might reject me. I'm afraid Rouge might reject me.</p><p>With Shadow, I have all the time in the world; he'll come around eventually. At the least, he'll give me a chance. Even if I have to go by Marissa forever, even if I somehow really <em>am</em> a fraud... I'll still have a chance. As long as I'm here, he'll be here too. I'll always have the chance.</p><p>With Rouge, I don't have that same confidence. She's been so nice to me... so far. When she gets to know me, when I'm something more than just a girl to be pitied... will I be anything to her? Will she care about me at all? Or will all the support and affection simply disappear? Or worse? The thought of it turns my stomach and brings tears to my eyes. I'm afraid of being rejected.</p><p>All of me <em>hurts</em>. My heart hurts, from all the fear. My stomach hurts, from all the anxiety. My eyes hurt, from all the tears. My ears hurt, from the deafening silence. My legs hurt, from.... Why do my legs hurt?</p><p>I reach down, rubbing the offending muscles. It's a dull ache. I've spent the last however-long walking all day, every day, and they've never done <em>this</em> before. Am I sick? Am I coming down with something? Are my symptoms starting up again? ... no, this is different. The spasms and seizures never felt like this. This feels more like the ache I would get when I'd lie in bed for days on end, <em>after</em> the seizures. Grandfather said it was because I wasn't well enough to walk.</p><p>Of course.</p><p>"I need to go for a walk," I tell Shadow. "My legs can't take all of this sitting around."</p><p>Shadow nods, standing up. He starts towards the teleporter room. "Any requests?"</p><p>Anywhere but the ARK. I get up from my chair. Anywhere but the ARK. I turn around to follow him. Anywhere but the ARK. I start heading towards the teleporter room, myself. Anywhere but the ARK. "Anywhere new," I tell him.</p><p>He smiles. I know that smile. This is going to be a great walk.</p><p>"We'll be teleporting into an abandoned GUN base."</p><p>That sounded like it was a warning. Why would he warn me about that? Maybe he's trying to think about my feelings. From his perspective, he doesn't know how I feel about GUN. He might think that I'm holding a grudge... that I'd respond with anger or fear. Does he remember the last thing I said to him, before I sent him off the ARK? I had already forgiven them, even then, for the raid and all the pain it's caused.</p><p>Does that mean that he has a grudge? Or had, at the least? He's had a lot of time to deal with what happened, but... maybe more has happened since then. Maybe he's forgiven them, or... maybe he's still angry. He doesn't seem angry.</p><p>The ARK had an association with the Union, just like this place. Maybe the teleporters are only put in GUN-controlled places. That would mean the Beta House is GUN-controlled, too. If that's the case, Shadow and Rouge almost certainly work for them.</p><p>Shadow has already punched the necessary information into the access panel. The machine whirs, and I breathe out. I'm not sure if that advice was meant for travel to the Beta House, from the ARK, or in general. I do it anyway. As the light comes up, I get that same sensation in my chest. It's like my lungs have turned to ice, or maybe very cold stone. It's like I can't breathe, but I don't need to, either. It's still a little uncomfortable. As the light disappears, air fills my lungs and the sensation is gone.</p><p>The abandoned base is overrun with vines of various type. Small holes in the metal ceiling let soft, green light pour through. A dandelion has managed to spring up from between the cracks in the concrete floor. I think about it for a moment.</p><p>"We're heading outside, right?" I ask Shadow.</p><p>He nods.</p><p>I pluck the flower from its stem. These seeds are going somewhere with more soil. Never mind the fact that I've <em>always wanted to do this</em>.</p><p>As Shadow leads me down the hallway, the vines grow thicker and more dense. As we go down a small flight of stairs, I start to smell what I can only assume is fresh air. As we make our way down a final hallway, the ambient green light grows brighter.</p><p>The large metal doors are held open by curious roots and spreading vines. On the other side, I can see... it.</p><p>The <em>out</em> side.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Out Side</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This is not just any outside, either. This is a lush forest--a real forest! The green tinge to the light is from filtering through the leaves of the taller trees: redwoods, firs, pines, and oaks, just from what I can see now. I can see there are some birch and eucalyptus trees here, and a few others I can't even categorize! This is a forest--a real forest--and there are all sorts of other plants, too! There's some kind of berry-growing bush that I can't even begin to identify. There are vines and branches running wild everywhere. There's all sorts of undergrowth, too: flowers, moss, shrubs, ivy... it's fascinating. The arboretum on the ARK was home to exactly twelve species of plant. It doesn't even <em>begin</em> to compare to this.</p><p>More than that, I can hear sounds coming from the forest. I can hear wind--real wind!--rustling through the leaves. I can hear buzzing, possibly from a cicada or some other kind of insect. I can hear honking... what kinds of birds honk? I've never heard their calls for myself, so I don't really know.</p><p>The smells... I can smell wood, and dirt, and something vaguely floral. I can almost <em>taste</em> the nature in this place.</p><p>Amazed, and a little intimidated, I step across the doorway, and into the <em>out</em>. I can feel the wind gently pushing, bending its way around its newfound, unexpected guest. Its greeting isn't a cold one, but it's not exactly warm, either. It's still amazing, feeling real wind for the first time.</p><p>I look around. I can't see very far, for all the trees around, but I can see that the ground starts going up when I look behind me. I can see minor areas where the plants aren't quite as dense, almost like a path to follow.</p><p>Shadow gives me a few moments to take in the scenery before gesturing for me to follow him down the path. He heads down a path he clearly knows very well, and I follow. He takes a couple of unexpected turns, eventually leading us back in roughly the same direction we came from. Roughly the same direction, but not quite. I think he plans to go uphill.</p><p>"So, is this your own private hiking trail?" I ask Shadow.</p><p>"Pretty much," he says. "Nobody ever comes out here, so I've always got the place to myself."</p><p>"Until now," I point out.</p><p>He nods. "It's just the one time, after all. Just respect the nature and try not to run off."</p><p>'Respect the nature'? I guess he's still entertaining the possibility that I'm not who I seem to be. After all, it's the only real excuse he has, the only way he can justify keeping me out. I don't seem to completely disarm him just by being here, anymore, but that doesn't mean we're friends again. He's not ready, and I'll need to give him more time. Still, I think I can be a bit more open about what's going on, now. "I wouldn't dream of it," I assure him.</p><p>As we continue up the slope, the ground gets rougher. The plants don't grow as densely, and the trees don't grow as tall. Soon, the path encounters rocks jutting from the ground. As the rocks become more common, the trees become less common. I start to see what might be a horizon through the trees. The rocks become stepping-stones, and eventually fuse into a singular path. The path continues upwards, while the ground on either side begins to slant, very steeply. To my right is a cliff that travels quite a way up. To my left, a cliff that travels quite a way down. A few plants grow from the cliff-faces, but I can see a large, dense forest that spreads to the horizon, which is decorated by either a large hill nearby, or a mountain further away. The view is breathtaking.</p><p>I admire the view as we continue the climb. We reach a large, level area, not all the way up the hill, and Shadow stops.</p><p>"Are you going to blow out those dandelion seeds or not?"</p><p>"I've been waiting for the right spot," I tell him.</p><p>"And?" he prompts.</p><p>I look at the wide, gorgeous view in nearly every direction. We've wrapped around the hill, and the wind won't carry the seeds into the side of the cliff. I take a look, and there's a grassy-looking plain down the hill in that direction. I look at the beautiful oak growing out of the side of the hill.</p><p>"This is the place," I say. I think for a moment, about how this is going to work, and I hand the flower to Shadow. "Hold this for just a moment, please."</p><p>He seems a bit confused, but he holds it nonetheless.</p><p>I get a running start at the tree, kick off the trunk, and manage to grab one of the lower branches. It takes some doing, but I get myself on top of it. I try to climb out to the further reaches of the branch, as leaves and twigs attempt to invade my face and hair. I laugh. I manage to get myself far enough out, and I sit down, wrapping my legs around the branch. I spin around the branch, beaming with joy and pride, as I reach "up" and ask Shadow for the flower.</p><p>He pauses. I suppose my display of youthful strength and energy may have been a surprise to him. Silently, he hands me the dandelion.</p><p>I spin back around the branch. <em>I wish everyone could feel as happy as I do right now.</em> I take in a deep breath, and blow. It takes a bit of quick thinking and a delicate touch, but I manage to get every last seed. Proudly, I watch them drift slowly down, riding on the wind.</p><p>Shadow watches them, too, with a look of thought on his face. Considering how frail and sickly I used to be, I'm not surprised that he wouldn't expect this from me. A lot can change in so many decades. I wonder what's happened to him, since that day. Shadow was always a fellow of few words, but... I think he's more withdrawn, than the one I used to know. Did losing me really do this to him? Or is there something more?</p><p>"Shadow, you don't have to answer if you don't want to..."</p><p>He looks at me, curious.</p><p>"What's happened? You know, since then?"</p><p>Shadow looks back to stare at the dandelion seeds, which are no longer visible in the slightest. He thinks, for a moment, and says "Not as much as you'd think."</p><p>"Oh?"</p><p>"GUN intercepted the capsule. They never even opened it; they drilled a hole just big enough to fill it with knockout gas. They sealed me away. Gerald was a good man before the raid, but he became hell-bent on taking revenge: not just on GUN, but on <em>everyone</em>. He altered my memories, making me think that... that my final promise had been to exact revenge."</p><p>Holy cow.</p><p>"Ivo broke into the base and woke me up, but it was already the twenty-first century. I told him about the Eclipse Cannon, and how to use it. Rouge and I helped him collect the Chaos Emeralds while he proposed to take over the world. Someone else helped me remember the promise I made--the truth. I stopped what I had started, but at the cost of my memories. All I could remember was my name, and the mental image of..."</p><p>"...the raid?" I offer.</p><p>He nods.<br/>
"I wandered aimlessly for a while, until the Black Comet returned. That was when I learned the truth about how and why I was made... and the truth about the cannon. I got my memories back, defeated Black Doom, destroyed the Comet, and put my past behind me. I said 'sayonara' to Shadow the Hedgehog. I buried the hatchet, and started working for GUN with Rouge and Omega."</p><p>Omega?</p><p>"You might say things have happened since then, but I don't think they matter: not where you're concerned, anyway."</p><p>"So, my being here is interfering with your decision to put the past behind you?"</p><p>He shrugs.<br/>
I get the idea that the shrug means something other than 'I don't know'.</p><p>Putting the past behind you... it doesn't mean that it never happened. Shadow came to terms with the past, as he knew it, and that helped him push forward. Now... accepting that I'm me means accepting that his knowledge of the past was wrong. The thing he struggled to put behind him is suddenly replaced by another creature entirely.</p><p>We remain there, steeping, for a while.</p><p>"Thank you for telling me," I say.</p><p>He nods.</p><p>"It's a lot to process, just like I'm sure that I am."</p><p>He shrugs, slightly.</p><p>"You're allowed to have a hard time with this," I remind him. "You can grieve for someone who isn't dead. You can mourn tragedy of any kind, and the survival of one person doesn't undermine that tragedy."</p><p>He stands there, motionless. He doesn't tell me to stop.</p><p>"Even if it did, that doesn't rob the feelings of their power. Emotions are very real things, and, last time I checked, no one knew how to make them go away. Regardless of what those feelings are based on--truth, misunderstandings, or even lies--they're a very real force that can drive anyone to be the hero... or the villain. Trying to ignore them, or push them aside, or bottle them up is only going to hurt you. I'm not saying that's what you're doing, I'm just saying that's what happens. If I really am the person I seem to be, if there really was a time when she and I were the same, that doesn't undermine your grief. That doesn't make your feelings stupid, or pointless, or wrong. Our home was invaded and destroyed; we were separated; I got <em>shot</em>; you had every reason to think that your best friend was dead--it was a tragedy. You're allowed to feel sad about it, for however long you need. You're allowed to have needs, and boundaries."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Needs and Boundaries</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Shadow doesn't move. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't face me, but he doesn't turn away. He continues to stare at the dandelion seeds.</p><p>Is he upset? It can be hard to tell with him. Did I say something wrong?</p><p>I can see a twinkle: the sun's reflection off of tears falling from Shadow's face.</p><p>Of course I said something wrong. I assumed it was all about me, didn't I? It always was, before. I just made him re-live what's probably the most awful experience either of us has ever had, just to make a point. I crossed a line that I definitely shouldn't have. "I'm sorry," I say. "I got carried away, I didn't mean to bring up--"</p><p>"--it's not that," he interrupts.</p><p>I wait, silently, hoping he'll explain.</p><p>He sits down on the ground, hugging his knees to his chest. He hasn't stopped crying. "It's not that," he repeats.</p><p><em>Did</em> I say something wrong? Now I'm not so sure. I feel anxious, and not in a good way.</p><p>He sits there, so alone. I want to hug him. I want to pet him. I want to put his head in my lap and hum something half-made-up. I'm confused, though. I don't know what <em>he</em> wants.</p><p>I jump down from the branch.</p><p>I only see it because I'm looking for it, but his spines flare, just a little.</p><p>That answers that question. I sit down at the base of the tree.</p><p>Shadow stares at the view. It's such a close view of the world, but it's still not really <em>here</em>. It would take quite a while to get down to that plain from up here. I'd think those seeds still haven't landed yet.</p><p>I look around, and notice a caterpillar, half a stone's-throw away, walking towards the tree. It takes a long time for her to get where I am. I set what remains of the plucked dandelion in front of her.</p><p>"That's exactly the sort of thing she would have said," Shadow says.</p><p>"I suppose it would be, wouldn't it?" I answer, as the last of the flower disappears.</p><p>He chuckles, just a little bit, letting one leg relax. "I suppose it would." Shadow continues looking over the plain, steeping. This time, he's not watching the seeds.</p><p>The caterpillar continues on her way, climbing up the tree.</p><p>"I guess I should show you the rest of the way up, huh?" Shadow asks.</p><p>"We could head back, if you'd prefer that."</p><p>"No," Shadow says, getting up from his seat, "I wouldn't."</p><p>I push myself off the ground, ready for adventure. "Neither would I," I say. "I've enjoyed my time there so far, but I also haven't noticed any books. No offense to you or Rouge, but I don't mind a <em>little</em> time for myself." I think about what I just said. As much as I want to go back on it, and say I don't want to be left alone... I don't.</p><p>Shadow smiles, giving that understanding nod of his; I know he's the same way.</p><p>Way back when, even when we wanted to be alone, we knew how to be alone with each other. I want that back.</p><p>"These days, people tend to watch TV instead. Louder, and doesn't leave as much to the imagination, but that's not always bad." He starts his way up the rest of the hill. As I follow, he adds, "there's still some good books, though."</p><p>It's not much further before we reach the top. The view is great, but maybe it's not as nice as the one from before. It features the same forest, the same mountain, the same plains, and a bit more forest. If nothing else, I saw the other view first, and came to like it more. This <em>would</em> be the perfect place to watch a sunset, but that won't be for a few more hours.</p><p>I look at Shadow. His expression tells me everything I need to know. A brief conversation, entirely without words. There's nothing for us, here. We both start making our way down.</p><p>As we pass by the tree, I find myself thinking about what Shadow told me. Ivo planned to use the cannon to take over the world. He and Rouge helped Ivo collect the Chaos Emeralds. I already know why Shadow was doing that, but what about Rouge? It's likely she was working undercover. What about Ivo? I spend a few moments deciding whether I'm ready to ask the question. After all, Shadow doesn't mince words. I decide to ask anyway. "What kind of person did Ivo grow up to be?"</p><p>"Egomaniacal power-hungry bastard," says Shadow. "Picked up the name 'Eggman' somewhere along the way."</p><p>I was afraid of that.</p><p>"Absolutely no sense of empathy."</p><p>"Why is he like that?"</p><p>Shadow shrugs.</p><p>Oh dear. I don't know what to say about that. I think on it long enough that the opportunity to say <em>anything</em> passes. Eventually, we return to the woods. It's amazing how emotional state can change the way things seem. It <em>can't</em> be true, but the undergrowth seems to have more snags and thorns than before. The wind might have actually gotten colder... or it might not have. I stop.</p><p>He stops. He turns around to look at me, curious.</p><p>I want to say something. I want to ask what happened, that we can't spend an afternoon playing or relaxing on a hilltop. I already know what happened. I want to ask why, that I have to prove I'm his long-lost childhood friend, just for the hope that Shadow might be my friend again. I know why. He has boundaries. I just got through telling him that it's okay to have boundaries, but here I am, wishing I could just unlock his heart.</p><p>He's locked everyone out, and it's not because I'm dead. He's locked everyone out because he's afraid of grief. He knows the pain of loss.</p><p>I've felt it, too; I know what he's afraid of. The reason I have to prove I'm her is simple. It's the easiest way to prove that I won't disappear, leaving only grief and memories behind. If I'm really her, that means I <em>can't</em> disappear like she did. I <em>can't</em> die like she did. Like she didn't. Like <em>I</em> didn't. I used to enjoy playing pretend. Just this morning, I was content to play along: to play the Imitation Game. I want to say something. I want to ask what happened, that I can't spend an afternoon playing a game that Shadow wants to play. Rather, that Shadow <em>needs</em> to play. It's not a game to him. It's not a game to me, either: not anymore.</p><p>When we were kids, it was always about me. When things got serious, it was always about what I needed. Shadow never needed anything. Even when we played, it was always about my boundaries. Shadow could never get hurt. Now, I finally have the chance to get that relationship back. But now, finally, it's not about what I need. It's not about me; it's about him. It's finally about Shadow, and I don't know how to handle that.</p><p>I just got through telling him it's okay to have boundaries. Saying it's okay is one thing, but respecting it is something else. I want to be the friend he needs. I want to be the friend he deserves. Just once--just <em>once</em>--I want to be there for <em>him</em>.</p><p>He's continuing to look at me. His calm, steady eyes look ready to pounce. He's waiting for me to tell him what's wrong. He's waiting, without judgment. He's waiting, for me to speak. He's there for <em>me</em>.</p><p>I'm not there for him. I want to be there for him. I want to be the friend he deserves. I want to be the friend he needs. Maybe... maybe I'm not her. I don't cry. I want to, but it would be far too selfish. I don't want to worry him. I don't want to weigh him down more than his memory of me already does. "What type of bird is that?" I ask.</p><p>He actually thinks about the question, listening to the honking sound for a moment. "Probably a crow, or something related."</p><p>We continue on. Did my ruse work? Was my attempt to deceive him the right thing to do?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. The Right Thing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's not long before we reach the base, go up the stairs, and return to the teleporter. The process is very much the same as before.</p><p>Once again, I'm in the warmth of the Beta House. It's warm, and it's small, but the coziness I felt before seems to be gone. I step into the living room, completely unsure of what to do with myself.</p><p>Shadow, on the other hand, goes directly into the dining room, grabs a book off the table, and brings it back to me. "Here," he says.</p><p>I look at the book. The words seem foreign, somehow, as I stare at the title: "The Life of Pi". He's giving me something: something I saw once before. He was reading it; this was his book. This <em>is</em> his book. I said there was a lack of things to do here, and he's lending me this book to satisfy my boredom. "Thank you, Shadow, I appreciate this a lot," I say, taking the book, not really sure what else <em>to</em> say.</p><p>He nods, as if to say 'you're welcome.'</p><p>I smile. I can <em>feel</em> how fake it is. I step into my bedroom, and I quietly close the door. Silently, I lock it. I set the book down on the wooden nightstand. I sit down on the bed, remove my shoes, and lie down.</p><p>What am I doing? I search my mind for the words, and I find one phrase: 'wallowing in self-pity'. Maybe I heard it said, or maybe I read it in a book, but that phrase somehow found its way into my mind. Now... I can't let it go. I'm not sure of the exact meaning of 'wallow', but it's nothing good. I try to think about something else, but the word comes right back.</p><p>Right now, Shadow's probably worried sick about me. Even if I fooled him with the question about the bird, he knows something is wrong. He's a good listener; he always knows. I want to tell him I'm okay: not to worry about me. It would be a lie, he'd never believe it, I don't think I can even face him right now--I can't tell him I'm okay. What kind of friend am I? I'm the kind of friend who's too busy wallowing to be anything but the worst kind of friend at all.</p><p>I look at the dress that Rouge got for me. I think about how much I've taken from her, giving nothing back but one empty compliment. I think about how much I've taken from Shadow, giving nothing back but grief. 'Wallowing'.</p><p>Shadow's not worried that I might be a fraud; he's worried that I might really be the selfish girl I was then. How would I not be? Nothing has changed. I haven't grown, I haven't improved, I'm still just... me. 'Wallowing'.</p><p>I put my face in the pillow. I try to cry, but tears don't come. I wish I could cry, but I can't. I just close my eyes... wallowing.</p><p>My eyes closed, I see Shadow. Maybe it's a memory; maybe it's a dream; or maybe it's something between the two. We're sitting at a dining room table, with what could be called sandwiches in front of us. Arms that look like mine reach in front of me, grabbing my assigned food and bringing it up to my mouth. Between the slices of bread are pickles, peanut butter, hot sauce, and possibly a few other items. There may have been a time when I might have tried, or even enjoyed, such a thing, but now I don't care for even the thought of it. Shadow's face mimics my feelings as he suspiciously eyes the dish in front of him. "Go on, Shadow!" I hear my own voice call out, "I made it for you!" I see Shadow take his own so-called meal and lift it, clearly less than interested. He shies away from the very smell of it. "It's good, see?" I don't want it to, but my mouth opens and bites off a piece of my sandwich. I can't even taste it. He opens his mouth, clearly expecting the worst. I try to call out to him, to stop him, to tell him he doesn't have to. My mouth is so dry, full of flavorless peanut-butter sawdust, it won't even open. There's nothing I can do as I watch him put his teeth through the bread and into the filling beneath.</p><p>My heart is pounding and racing. I open my eyes. The room is dark, except for light slipping through the crack beneath the door. I'm in my new bedroom. It must be nighttime.</p><p>I get out of bed and I step up to the door. Silently, I unlock it. Quietly as I can, I open the door just enough to see out. It takes a moment to adjust to the light.</p><p>Rouge is half-lying and half-sitting on the couch. A small device sits on the arm of the couch, next to her left hand. With her other arm, she makes a motion to invite me to come out.</p><p>If I'm ever going to talk to anyone again, it'll have to be her or Shadow. I wish I could apologize to him, for all the expectations I've put on him. Still, maybe this is for the best. I open the door and sit down in the chair next to the couch.</p><p>As I do, Rouge picks up the device just long enough to press a button. Both pieces of furniture face a large monitor of some kind; the monitor shuts off as she presses it. "So..." she asks, "did you have a good sleep?"</p><p>"Yes, ma'am," I say.</p><p>She looks at me, like she's trying to think of exactly what to say. She continues looking for an uncomfortably-long time. "Deception really isn't a good look for you, you know."</p><p>"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask her.</p><p>"It means, you shouldn't be afraid to talk to me about your problems. We're keeping you cooped up in here all by yourself, and the only other person you have to talk to isn't exactly the best conversationalist. If you can't talk to me, then I think you're liable to go bonkers in here. <em>Talk</em> to me."</p><p>What, do I have 'nightmare' printed on my face, or something? "How'd you know?"</p><p>"Firstly, you're a bad liar. I can see it even if you hide it behind your manners. Secondly, no one wakes up with a heart rate like yours unless they had a nightmare."</p><p>My... heart rate. Bats have sensitive hearing. "I see," I say, solemnly.</p><p>"Do you want to talk about it?"</p><p>I'm not sure if I do. Still, she knows something is bothering me, so I have to tell her <em>something</em> or she'll just be more worried. "I... I don't want to be a burden."</p><p>Rouge waves her hand, like a magician dismissing an assistant. "You're not a burden. I don't think you could be one if you tried."</p><p>"You don't know me as well as Shadow does," I tell her, grimly. "Do you really mean to say he isn't worried about me?"</p><p>"Of <em>course</em> he's worried about you!" she says, without hesitation. "Two seconds after he handed you that book, he'd sent me a hundred texts. Neither of us <em>wants</em> to see you upset. But if you <em>are</em> upset, we also don't want you hiding it from us."</p><p>"But, if I've got you two worried about me, how am I <em>not</em> a burden? If you're constantly going out of your way to make sure I have everything I want... how is that okay? It feels so selfish to accept your hospitality when I can't repay your kindness. To make it worse, I can't even feel grateful because I just feel so... guilty."</p><p>"Is that what all this is about?" she asks, as though the point were something simple. "You wish you could do something nice for me and Shadow?"</p><p>"Even if I <em>could</em> give something back... how could I know it would be something you'd want?"</p><p>She seems a bit puzzled. "What do you mean?"</p><p>"... I dreamt that I made something for Shadow to eat. I wanted to make him happy, but he obviously didn't want to eat it. But... he did."</p><p>"And?"</p><p>"'And?'? Rouge, he <em>only</em> ate it because he didn't want to hurt my feelings! It seems like his entire life has been defined by <em>me</em>, without any regard for what he's wanted. I..." I start crying. "I don't want that, Rouge. I don't want things to be that way. I spent <em>so</em> long looking for Shadow, so things could go back to the way they were. Now, I realize I don't <em>want</em> things to go back to the way they were. When we were together, everything was always about me. Even when I tried to do something nice for him, I was always thinking about myself. Even now, I want to do something nice for him, and for you, but I only want to for completely selfish reasons. Easing <em>my</em> guilt, silencing <em>my</em> conscience, making <em>me</em> feel better--it all has nothing to do with either of you. I'm afraid I'm just going to make things worse."</p><p>Rouge's expression turns grim: very, very grim. Very seriously, she gets up from the couch and walks over to the chair. She takes my hand. "If I tell you a secret," she asks, "can you keep it?"</p><p>"Of course, Rouge: anything you ask."</p><p>She hesitates for a moment. Finally, she leans in and whispers into my ear.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. The Same Way</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>My mind shatters, thinking too many thoughts at once. Does she also think I'm just going to make things worse? Does she wish Shadow had never found me? Does she hate me? Why does the way she's holding my hand feel so desperate, so sincere? Why do I have goosebumps? Why does her breath send shivers down my spine? Why did she whisper it? Does that mean Shadow is here, and she's afraid he'll hear it? Does it mean this a lie, and she doesn't want to be caught telling it? <em>Would</em> she, at a time like this, lie to me to try to make me feel better? Or, does it mean that this secret is so desperate that, even though we're alone, she doesn't <em>dare</em> to say it out loud? The questions flood in; only some are answered.</p>
<p>She sees my reaction and she looks horrified. "I've-" she says, starting to pull away.</p>
<p>I tighten my grip on her hand, keeping her from turning. Perhaps it's selfish of me, but this might be something <em>she</em> needs. I still have no idea what to say, but I know I need to say something. If what she said is true, it changes a lot. I need to know the truth; I let go of her now-unmoving hand. "... do you really mean it?"</p>
<p>She pauses. "I've never meant anything as much as I meant that." She turns her eyes downwards. "But... this isn't about me. I shouldn't have said anything." She tries to pull her hand away again.</p>
<p>This time, I'm not conflicted as I hold on to her--tight. She's given me--she's become--a glint of hope, and she needs to see how precious that is. "Rouge... you're being too hard on yourself. If it's not about you, then it's about me, and I don't want it to always be about me. You've been <em>so</em> incredibly generous. You've been perfect in <em>every</em> way. You deserve something nice."</p>
<p>"But..." she protests, not sure how to say the sentence, though we both know how it goes.</p>
<p>I think for a moment. In so many years, I've only seen two people: her, and Shadow. "There is another option," I tell her.</p>
<p>"What's that?" she asks.</p>
<p>"We could both work together, and do something for Shadow. No surprises, nothing big or crazy. Something he'll actually <em>like</em>. We're smart, we know him pretty well... I think we might be able to come up with something. If you do it to help me, and I do it to help you, and we <em>both</em> try to keep it nice for him...."</p>
<p>"We won't need to worry about anything going wrong," she finishes.</p>
<p>I smile. She's a good listener. "I think it seems reasonable. We just need to make sure that we don't get carried away. What do you think?"</p>
<p>"It seems like a very sensible idea from a very sensible girl," she says, smiling. "We just need to figure out something Shadow will like. Maybe you'd like the chance to make something he'll <em>want</em> to eat."</p>
<p>I pause. I don't want to press my luck with something like that, but... I'm not thinking of any better options. If Shadow doesn't like it, he <em>should</em> be able to turn it down. If it's something longer-lasting, like a book or a record, we'd know he disliked it based on whether he used it. With a single meal, there's a bit more leeway. Even so... "There needs to be absolutely no pressure for him to eat it."</p>
<p>Rouge considers what that means. If we have any way to find out <em>whether</em> he ate it, that will be a source of pressure. "How will we know if he likes it?"</p>
<p>... How <em>will</em> we know if he likes it? It takes me a while to find the answer. "'We'," I observe.</p>
<p>"What?" she asks.</p>
<p>"You said 'how will <em>we</em> know'. We agreed that this won't be about <em>us</em>, right? I want to know he likes it, but my knowing isn't required for him to like it. We don't actually <em>need</em> to know, so... we won't."</p>
<p>She looks at me like I just said the most outlandish thing in the world. She looks at me like she's trying to decide if I'm kidding. She looks at me like I just solved one of life's greatest mysteries. She looks at me like I'm a wise guru, sharing the secret of enlightenment. She looks at me like she's a desperate pupil, struggling to learn what that secret means. "But... how do we know that he <em>will</em> like it?"</p>
<p>"We won't be able to know for certain, but, for what it's worth, I believe in you. I'm... I'm still nervous, but I think we can do it. If we do our best, we can be confident that it'll work out."</p>
<p>She smiles, appreciating my assurance. "But, how will that even <em>work</em>? Do we just... make a bag lunch and leave it in the fridge?"</p>
<p>"Why not?"</p>
<p>"It's... not much."</p>
<p>"That's true, but... what does Shadow <em>want</em>?"</p>
<p>She pauses. "Not much. I guess it's perfect, isn't it?"</p>
<p>"I guess it is," I smile.</p>
<p>After a few moments pass, with that Rouge-y tone she seems to have lost before, she asks, "so, this really has nothing to do with Ivo? Shadow said you seemed okay until he explained about Eggman."</p>
<p>"No..." I say slowly, trying to think it through. "Ivo and I were never very close, and... maybe it's a little hard for me to accept that not everyone tries to be good. I don't know him nearly as well as either of you do, but I can't help thinking there might be hope for him. Either way, my current upset has nothing to do with Ivo. I suppose that my mood started going downhill around... around the same time we did. When we reached the summit, I wanted to spend some quality time with Shadow, but... we don't have much to say to each other, and the silences are awkward. Rather, I suppose we <em>did</em>n't have much to say to each other: I've thought of a few extra things, but they'll have to wait. I got disappointed, and I realized that Shadow knew something was wrong, and... it just spiraled out of control. It's ironic: my disappointment made me miss out on what would've been a great opportunity."</p>
<p>"Oh? How's that?"</p>
<p>"It's the quiet moments together that I think I miss the most. I could've been out here, reading the book he's lent me. At the time, I thought I'd rather he think I'd wanted to read the book in privacy."</p>
<p>She looks a bit confused by that last sentence.</p>
<p>I don't blame her. I wave my hand, as if erasing it from the blackboard of sound between us. "I don't want to shut him out, Rouge. I want to be there for him, no matter what. I want to be a good friend--the kind of friend he deserves. If I'm going to do that, though... I'll need to start small, and I'll need your help."</p>
<p>"Well," she says, "somehow, it seems you've managed to convince me. Just say what you need, and leave it to me!"</p>
<p>"Rouge," I caution, raising an eyebrow.</p>
<p>"Right," she says. "I just mean you can count on me. I've got your back."</p>
<p>"And I've got yours!" I beam.</p>
<p>It's not long before we've collected paper and pens on the dining-room table. We're ready to make lists, notes, reminders, plans, and whatever else we'll need. It's a long process, with quite a few false starts, for what will surely end up a fairly simple plan.</p>
<p>Rouge is a wonderful source of information and ideas. Her energy and confidence are helpful and inspiring, in doses that I sometimes need to help her measure.</p>
<p>Throughout the process, I also gain a bit of knowledge about society on Earth: mostly related to shopping, food, money, and the like. It isn't much, but it's nice to learn things about the mysterious blue ball that's always been just out of reach.</p>
<p>Eventually, the plan is complete. I know it will work out, but I'm still afraid that it might not. While the planning process was much more complex than the plan, the plan itself is far more complex than the end result could ever be. That's just the way it is, when it comes to making food.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Making Food</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rouge teleports away, in a search to find the missing ingredients.</p>
<p>This is the first time I've been alone in the Beta House, but it's okay. She <em>promised</em> she would be back soon. If I take a shower while she's gone, it'll seem like even less time. I put together an outfit (a purple shirt with blue jeans) and step into the bathroom.</p>
<p>I look at the girl in the mirror: she looks young, happy, and vibrant. I might be old, but I <em>have</em> stopped aging. I might have seen hard times, but they're behind me now. I might have been sickly, once, but now the Ultimate Life flows through my veins. I look at the girl in the mirror: an optimistic reflection of myself.</p>
<p>This is the second shower I've had since coming to the Beta House. I've also fallen asleep twice. How long was I asleep each time? How long was I awake between the two? How long ago was it that Shadow found me? Why has there <em>always</em> been one of them in the Beta House with me until now? Why is it called the Beta House? Is there an <em>Alpha</em> House?</p>
<p>I consider my options for shampoo. On the one hand, Rouge got the lilac shampoo for me because I requested it. On the other hand... I told Shadow he could ask me how I'm alive, when he's ready to hear it. He hasn't asked, so... maybe he's still not ready. On the other hand, maybe he's just waiting for conclusive evidence, or maybe he's already asked Rouge.</p>
<p>Just to test, I open the shampoo bottle and smell what's inside. Memories: pleasant, simple memories from long, long ago. I've always loved that smell, but now... it almost brings me to tears. I enjoy the smell for a few moments, but I can't do it: not yet. I close the bottle and set it back down.</p>
<p>The other bottle, the one I used last time, doesn't advertise a particular scent. It has a slightly-fruity smell, but I don't know how to describe it beyond that. Most importantly, it's shampoo. I use it to wash my hair.</p>
<p>When will Tails finish with the lab results? Who, or what, is Tails? Who, or what, is Omega? Are they the same person? ... no, Omega works for GUN, but I don't think Tails does. Who was the 'someone else' Shadow said helped him remember his promise? How many questions can I ask Rouge before she starts to get sick of it? Where is Rouge going to find short-grain rice at <em>this</em> time of night? Maybe Rouge went somewhere where it isn't night at all. What time of night <em>is</em> it? What day is it? What <em>year</em> is it? The Comet would have returned in 2005, but how long has it been since then? It's so hard to keep track of time. <em>I'm</em> getting a little annoyed at all of my questions. I try to empty my mind, but the questions just keep coming. My mind connects thoughts and considers possibilities. I allow it to wander as I continue to enjoy the hot water, even though my hair is rinsed out by now.</p>
<p>Eventually, I take a towel and dry myself off. I brush my teeth, and get dressed. I left the researcher uniform in here, from my first shower, but it's not here anymore. I shouldn't have left it there, but picking up my laundry is something I haven't thought about in a very, very long time. My curiosity raises a question, though: who moved it, and why? I file it away in the overstuffed folder of unanswered mysteries.</p>
<p>I wipe the steam from the mirror. I look at my damp, matted hair. I take a quick look around, and I see a device that looks quite a bit like a hair dryer. Isn't it dangerous to keep an electrical device in a bathroom like this? I notice two buttons on the electrical plug: 'Test' and 'Reset'. I press them, in turn, gradually realizing what they do. I plug the hair dryer into the wall and turn it on. Just to verify, I 'Test' again. The hair dryer immediately stops. I press 'Reset', and it works again. It's a fascinating solution.</p>
<p>As I dry my hair, I remember that I used to have a hair band. One of those blue creatures broke it a long time ago; I recovered, but the band didn't. Since then, I've worn a ponytail to keep my hair clear of my face. I look at the string I've been using for the last few years. Maybe, if it's not too much to ask, I could get a replacement. Once my hair is dry and combed, I still use the string to tie it back. Of course, I unplug the dryer when I'm done. I open the bathroom door and step out.</p>
<p>Everything looks like it did before. I don't see Rouge, and there aren't any groceries on the dining room table. Is Rouge back yet? For a moment, I consider what I'd do if she's not. Should I figure out how the TV works? Should I explore the Beta House? Should I start reading The Life of Pi? First, I need to figure out what to do with my laundry.</p>
<p>I hear the sound of water pouring into a sink. It sounds like it's coming from the kitchen.</p>
<p>"Rouge?" I ask, heading in that direction. My question is more to announce my own presence than it is to confirm who is in the kitchen.</p>
<p>"I'm in here," she says, her meaning as detached from her words as mine was just moments before. "I'm just changing out the water for the rice."</p>
<p>Has she already been back that long?</p>
<p>"You were right about the starch," she comments. "How many times are we going to have to soak it?"</p>
<p>I guess she <em>has</em> been back that long. "However many times it takes for the water to stop turning white," I tell her. "... how long was I in the shower?"</p>
<p>She looks at her communicator. "About forty minutes, why?"</p>
<p>"I'm just a little surprised you got back so fast."</p>
<p>She laughs, setting down a pot of short-grain rice in fresh water. "Please, I'm the world's greatest treasure-hunter," she replies. "I specialize in jewels, but I can still track down exotic ingredients in no time."</p>
<p>"Was it really that hard to find?" I ask, impressed.</p>
<p>"Not really," she smirks. She turns and points to a door beside the refrigerator. "The laundry room's through there. You can put your clothes in the hamper and then maybe you'd like to help prepare the chicken."</p>
<p>"Sounds good," I confirm, opening the door. Sure enough, there's a plastic basket sitting on a counter. It's empty, but only for a moment. "On a related note," I say as I head toward the sink to wash my hands, "what happened to the uniform I was wearing before?"</p>
<p>"Oh, right, I had the lab boys run a couple of tests on it and I haven't bothered to pick it back up. I was just going to toss it in the laundry, but then I started thinking about who 'SAULS' might have been. One thing led to another; you know how it is. What can you tell me about Tabitha Sauls?"</p>
<p>"Absolutely nothing certain. If I had to venture a guess, I'd say she used to be an ARK researcher who wore a women's size extra-small." Drying my hands, I add, "the ARK is really big, and I didn't know everyone on it."</p>
<p>"Fair enough; I just figured I'd ask," she says.</p>
<p>I look at the oven. A small display has two numbers on it: 350F, and 3:50. I smile at what I assume is just coincidence. Rouge must have already turned it on. "So..." I say, going through the mental checklist, "pan, foil, chicken, salt, pepper, garlic powder."</p>
<p>Rouge points at two cabinets, then says, "the chicken's in the fridge, the rest are in there," pointing to a third cabinet.</p>
<p>"Thanks," I say. It doesn't take long to gather everything I need. There are two chicken breasts here, but the plan was to serve only one. I suppose it makes sense: they <em>do</em> come in pairs, after all. "What do I do with the second one?"</p>
<p>Rouge is rinsing the strawberries, getting ready to remove the leaves. "Same as the first, but... more seasoning. We can leave it in the fridge for whoever wants it."</p>
<p>"How would we know which one's which?"</p>
<p>"... you could just keep the one for Shadow on the left, but you've got a point. It's safer to make them both the same way."</p>
<p>"All right, then," I say. I pull them out of the packaging. Now, I know a feeling I can compare, if anyone asks, to touching one of those blue creatures. It's not pleasant. Forgetting who I'm with, for a moment, I quietly whisper, "do it for Shadow," as I put them on the foil. With my other hand, I apply the seasoning.</p>
<p>"You know something?" Rouge asks.</p>
<p>I flip over the chicken. "I know a few things, but there are quite a few more that I don't," I reply, seasoning the other side.</p>
<p>"I think you're a good friend."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. A Good Friend</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Of course she'd heard what I said. "Why's that?" I ask, doubtful. "Because I want to do something nice for him?" I flip the chicken back over, and would very desperately like to wash my hands. I look over to Rouge, who has already taken the strawberries out of the sink.</p><p>She turns the water on and steps aside for me. "Not just that," she says. "You have a good heart. You're really trying to put him first."</p><p>"It's the least I could do," I say, rinsing my hands and grabbing the soap. "It's hard on Shadow, just seeing me here. He's always been the quiet type, but... I never listened to him. You're listening to me, providing for my every need, without me even saying what they are. I never listened to him, and now I'm afraid I don't know how. I feel like he needs something from me, and I don't know what it is."</p><p>"I have no <em>idea</em> what you're talking about. You've been putting him first since the very beginning! You even lied about your name just so he wouldn't have to hear you say it."</p><p>"I <em>know</em>, Rouge, but that's just something I thought he wanted. I don't know what he <em>really</em> wants, because I haven't been <em>listening</em>. The first thing he said to me was 'just who do you think you are?' and--"</p><p>"--That's terrible!" she objects, trying to comfort me.</p><p>"No, Rouge, it's not! It was completely appropriate; he had every reason to think I was gone. The thing that's <em>really</em> terrible is what <em>I</em> said to <em>him</em>. My response was 'don't you recognize me?'. I wasn't <em>listening</em> to him, Rouge. I heard the words, but... I didn't consider what they <em>meant</em>. He knew who I was <em>supposed</em> to be. He recognized me, but he was doubtful--for good reason. He made it clear, in no uncertain terms, and I... I didn't listen."</p><p>"So... you think, if you didn't listen then, you can't trust yourself to listen now?"</p><p>I nod, as I finish drying my hands.</p><p>"M, those were extenuating circumstances. He was the first person you'd seen in forever. You were overwhelmed, and you said something without thinking it through. Everyone does it sometimes."</p><p>'Extenuating'? 'Extenuate'? 'Tenuate'? 'Extenue'? 'Tenue'? Extenuating. I'll need to look that one up.</p><p>"I bet even Shadow's done it at some point," she continues. In fact, I'm sure he wishes he could change what he said to you." She hesitates for a moment. "Or at least the <em>way</em> he said it. I'm sure it wasn't exactly polite."</p><p>"Well, yes," I admit. "When you asked him what he'd done to me, he looked so, so guilty. He didn't plan on saying anything to defend himself. I <em>had</em> to let him know what I said to you: he did nothing wrong."</p><p>She goes back to removing the leaves from the strawberries. She says, with that honeyed tone of a woman asking someone to go against better judgment, "So, you say he looked guilty? Just based on his expression, you saw there was something he needed? And, more than that, you took the initiative you fill that need?"</p><p>I squint at her.</p><p>She's not looking at me, anymore. She looks very pleased with herself as she continues plucking leaves.</p><p>"Point taken," I reply. "Where are the oven mitts?"</p><p>She points to a drawer next to the oven.</p><p>Sure enough, there are several oven mitts and potholders in the drawer. I put on a pair of mitts and put the chicken into the oven. "Four o'clock exactly," I say out loud, reading the clock on the oven. I take off the mitts, no worse for wear, and I consider where I should put them. I washed my hands before I put them on, and they didn't touch anything worth mentioning. It feels wasteful to put them in the laundry. Is it even <em>safe</em> to put them in the laundry? It feels wrong to put them back in the drawer. It would put extra work on Rouge to leave them on the counter. It would be annoying and unnecessary to ask her what to do. I can feel my breath shaking as I try to calm myself down. Rouge said to talk to her about what's bothering me, but I can't bring myself to ask her anything.</p><p>She looks at me, as if to ask what's wrong.</p><p>I can't even bring myself to look back as I finally say, "I ask too many questions."</p><p>"You don't ask enough questions," she replies.</p><p>What's that supposed to mean? "Why do you say that?" I ask.</p><p>"Because you think you ask too many," she says. "You're stopping yourself from asking questions because you're afraid. There are questions weighing you down, but you haven't asked them. So, you don't ask enough."</p><p>"But..." I hesitate, "what if I ask too many?"</p><p>"Then I'll <em>tell</em> you," she replies, matter-of-factly. "Until that happens, it's best you just assume everything is fine."</p><p>"Are you sure?"</p><p>"Positive."</p><p>"What should I do with the oven mitts?"</p><p>"Leave them on the counter. You'll need them again in less than half an hour."</p><p>Now I feel dumb.</p><p>"I think it's time to change out the rice water. Would you take care of that?"</p><p>"Absolutely." I pour the milk-white contents of the pot through the strainer in the other side of the sink. It's almost magical how the rice appears from the mist. I shake the strainer to let out the excess water, and then I pour the rice back into the pot. I cover the rice in water again and set the pot down on the counter. "But after that, should the mitts go back in the drawer, or in the laundry, or... what?"</p><p>"It should be fine to put them back in the drawer. If you're more comfortable putting them in the laundry, though, that's fine, too."</p><p>"... I'm sorry, of course it doesn't matter. I'm just making a mountain out of a molehill."</p><p>"You're trying to be <em>considerate</em>. It's a good thing; you're just being too hard on yourself."</p><p>I look her in the eyes. "Rouge..." I start, trying to think through what I want to say.</p><p>She finishes the last of the strawberries. She looks at me, waiting.</p><p>I struggle, my mind split between two paths. Before I can know how I <em>should</em> feel about this, I need to know something... something I can't know. After a few attempts to respond--never more than half a word at most--I find myself defeated. "How do I know if you're being honest with me?"</p><p>She looks sad... disappointed. Then, her expression turns to one of... anger? Determination. She grabs my hand and wraps her pinkie around mine. She looks straight in my eyes and tells me, "I'm a jewel thief. I like to call myself a 'treasure hunter', but I steal gems, just for kicks. I never wear them, I never sell them, I just have a collection. I'm great at slipping in and out, but I enjoy the rush a little too much to avoid the cameras every time. I'm a secret agent because that's the only way I can keep myself out of prison with a track record as long as mine." With every sentence, her voice gets faster, more intense. "Shadow asked me not to say your name: I've tried to call you 'Marissa', but he just calls you 'M', and it's rubbing off on me. He also told me not to say who we work for. No one's watching, no one's listening: it's just you and me here. Just less than an hour ago, I told you my deepest, darkest secret. I have nothing else <em>left</em> to hide from you." She pauses, her eyes still locked onto mine. The storm in her voice goes very, very calm. "I think you're wonderful. You're being way too hard on yourself, because you've been alone for so long. You need time, to get used to being around people again. You need someone to support you when you feel down. <em>I'm here for you.</em> Well, I hope and plan to be. And if I'm being <em>anything</em> less than honest with you right now," she concludes, "may I swallow a thousand needles."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. A Thousand Needles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>'I have nothing else left to hide from you.' That's what she said. That was the core of her entire speech: everything before it was leading up to that, and everything after depended on it.</p><p>I look at the expression on her face.</p><p>She looks strong, determined... expecting, hopeful. She still hasn't let go of my hand; she's waiting for my response. She wants me to believe her. Of course, she's an exceptional liar: it's part of her job. The pinkie swear might seem childish, but... maybe it's a desperate attempt to let honesty show from behind countless masks. Maybe it really is as simple as it seems. Maybe she really put all her cards on the table, <em>just</em> so it would be true when she said she had nothing left to hide. Only a very dedicated liar would wait this long, this obviously, looking for a sign of belief. Maybe she really just wants me to believe her because it's true. She still hasn't let go of my hand; she's waiting for my response.</p><p>If what she said is true, that means there's hope. Hope. It feels so confusing, like it's some kind of paradox. It's not a paradox. I know there's something wrong with me, but she said I can get better. She's telling me there's something wrong with my mind, but that time with a supportive friend could fix it. That means I'm not 'ill' in the way I was with NIDS: even Grandfather had to resort to desperate measures, just to cling to a fleeting hope I might get better. It means I'm just 'sick', like with a cold: I just need someone to help nurse me back to health. It's confusing. All my life, hope always felt so... untouchable. Like the warmth in a room: I always felt it, but it was never something I could grasp. I always had hope, but now it's here in a way that's far more real than I've ever known it could be. It's <em>scary</em>. I'm afraid to believe it. I can feel myself trying to cry, but tears won't come. "What if you're wrong?" I ask her. "What if time and support aren't enough, to make me..." I hesitate, unsure if I should use the word 'better'.</p><p>"That doesn't matter," she says, "because you deserve them anyway."</p><p>"But you only know me like I am now. If I change, what if I just go back to how I used to be? What if I feel better about myself, but I become a worse person? Even if you really <em>do</em> like me the way I am now, what if I change and you don't like me anymore? Even if I fix all my problems, what if I'm not good enough?" My vision blurs, my voice cracks, and a tear runs down my cheek. "What if I can never live up to the girl that Shadow remembers? I don't want to go back to the way I used to be, but <em>even if I did</em>, how could I <em>ever</em> compete with her?"</p><p>She lets go of my finger and puts her arms around me. "You won't have to," she says gently, squeezing tightly. "You'll never have to."</p><p>Won't I? It seems to me that Shadow has made a promise to himself, never to love anyone else. I know better than to ask Shadow to go back on a promise, so the only way in is to find a loophole. There's a loophole <em>made</em> for me; if I want our friendship back, I'll need to prove that I'm really me. However, as long as I'm anyone else--as long as I'm M--I'll never have a place in his heart. But the girl he remembers is an angel, a madonna, and that's not something any real person could live up to. It wouldn't be healthy--for either of us--for me to even try. Is there a way through this? If there is... what is it?</p><p>Rouge brings me in, even closer. How long has this hug been going on? This hug: the first hug I've had since the raid. There's a real, flesh-and-blood person <em>holding</em> me. Her soft fur lies against my skin. Is this what it's like to pet a cat? It's a lot like how I imagined that would be.</p><p>It's been so long since I've been held. I don't know what to do. The <em>reality</em> of the situation grows heavier by the moment. My heart races. What is this feeling? Is it fear? Anxiety? I don't think that's how I'm supposed to feel right now.</p><p>She lets go of me and steps back a bit. "Listen, you'll be okay. It'll all work out. Just take everything one step at a time."</p><p>"Of course," I say, a bit shakily. "One step at a time." I pause a moment. "What's the current step?"</p><p>"How about you look in that cabinet over there, grab a zip-lock bag, and put a few strawberries in it?" She looks at a cabinet, though it's hard to tell exactly which one. She confirms my first guess with a nod. "That's the one."</p><p>I take a bag and bring it to the strawberries, but it feels wrong. "Is there a knife I can use?"</p><p>Rouge opens a drawer and hands me a butter-knife. She watches me, apparently interested in what I plan to do with it.</p><p>Before I realize I might want to explain it, I've already started slicing the strawberries in half. I put the halves in the bag and continue cutting.</p><p>Her curiosity seems satisfied. "Are you doing that for Shadow, or for you?"</p><p>I stop. "For me," I reply. "It feels wrong, otherwise. Do you think he'll mind?"</p><p>"I doubt it."</p><p>"So it should be fine, right?"</p><p>She nods. "Right."</p><p>I continue. It's good to know that she's looking out for me like that. She... has a job to do, I suppose, and she's being professional about it. A few strawberries later, I add, "thanks."</p><p>"No problem," she smiles.</p><p>Several moments pass, in silence, as I continue my work. "Hey, do you know the story of Theseus and the Minotaur?"</p><p>"Not really," she replies. "I don't really know which one was Theseus, except I think he was the one with the ship."</p><p>"Quite a few of them had ships," I remark.</p><p>"Point is, I'm going to need a few more details about the story if you want me to remember it. Assuming I've even <em>heard</em> the story, which isn't all that likely."</p><p>"Right, there was a giant maze holding the Minotaur, and Theseus went in to kill it. He took string with him to..." To mark path after path. To wind a trail, hall after hall. To serve as a sign: a thread's-width hope of ever finding the way home. To act as one of the very few things anchoring oneself to reality, in a never-ending maze of glass and metal....</p><p>"... to help him find his way back out of the labyrinth," Rouge finished.</p><p>"Him?" I ask, confused for just a moment as I remember where I am.</p><p>"To help him find his way out of the labyrinth," she repeats. Maybe she misheard me.</p><p>"Labyrinth!" I exclaim, with a bit <em>too</em> much relief. "Thank you!"</p><p>"Couldn't remember the word?"</p><p>"Yeah. That was bothering me for... a long time."</p><p>"I'd bet," she comments, sympathetically. After a pause, she adds, "you must hate that story now, huh?"</p><p>"No great loss," I say, shrugging.</p><p>She pauses. "So, you really don't know the first thing about anything that's happened since the fifties, huh?"</p><p>"Well... I never really knew what things were like on the surface. I'm sure I've missed out on more than just what's happened since then. I... still don't want to annoy you with a lot of questions, but I'd really like to learn more about the world. It would be nice if I had a guide... even if it's just the basics."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Just the Basics</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Well," she says, "I'd love to take you shopping, but--"</p><p>The teleporter whirs.</p><p>For just a moment, Rouge looks like she just got caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She hurries around the corner. "Shadow," she comments, "you're up early."</p><p>"Couldn't get back to sleep," he replies, simply.</p><p>I look around the corner. He looks... tired. I can also see that he's holding a book in one hand... and possibly something else. "Neither could I," I tell him.</p><p>He seems surprised to see me. He looks a bit concerned, actually. There's a brief, awkward, silence.</p><p>"I'd like to apologize for worrying you," I say. "I...." I almost say 'I didn't mean to.' He said it to me so many times, and I'm just not sure I can say it to him, without bringing up painful memories. I decide to settle for just saying, "I'm sorry."</p><p>"It's okay," he says, with the exact tone of voice he would use if it <em>wasn't</em> okay. Either way, it's the same tone. He steps towards the table and sets the book down, with a small device on top of it.</p><p>Rouge follows his movements. I think she's trying to block his view of the kitchen.</p><p>He notices. "Is there something else I should be worried about?"</p><p>"Well," Rouge says, "it was going to be a surprise when you got back."</p><p>"No surprises, Rouge," I remind her.</p><p>"I suppose you're right," she says, shifting a bit in the way she's standing. "We were just making some... breakfast, I guess?"</p><p>"Lunch, dinner, snack... whenever you decide to eat it, <em>if</em> you decide to eat it," I add. "Just a small gift, no strings attached."</p><p>"Interesting," he says, without further comment.</p><p>Rouge decides to ask the question I've been thinking. "What's with the book?"</p><p>"I'll let the girl see for herself," he says. "Just a small gift, no strings attached."</p><p>The thought had occurred to me, of course, but it still came as a surprise, somehow. "It's... for me?"</p><p>"I can't think of anyone who'd get more use out of it," he replies, as though that meant it was rightfully mine.</p><p>The book itself seems to be a bird-spotting guide. There's always the possibility that it <em>isn't</em>, but it was definitely made to look like one. Inside the front cover, there is a small series of pictures that explains what the device is and how to use it. Along with the entries on the different birds, there are short codes: when the code is punched into the device, it will imitate that bird's call. My interest piqued, I open the book to a random page: Mourning Dove. I find the code, and punch '01F7' into the device. A perfect recording of birdsong comes out: ahh-oo, oo, oo, oo. I don't think it's the cry of the dove that brings a tear to my eye. Shadow is right, of course: I know all the birds, but I've never heard their calls for myself. With this, I can learn so many different bird calls, without having to constantly ask about them. "Thank you," I manage to say. "It's perfect."</p><p>It's hard to pinpoint the expression on Shadow's face. He seems happy that I like the gift, but there's something hesitant about it.</p><p>"What's wrong?" I ask him.</p><p>"Nothing," he says, "just tired."</p><p>He doesn't <em>look</em> 'just tired'. I think he looks more... weary. Maybe he's still worried about me? There's something on his mind, to be sure. Still, I don't want to make him tell me. I'd say that, but it might give him the wrong idea. "I see." It sounded a bit more sad than I meant for it to.</p><p>I hadn't noticed before, but Rouge apparently filled the strawberry bag. She places it in the refrigerator, closing the door. She heads back to the sink and eyes the rice for a few moments. "Shadow, you've worked with short-grain rice--about how long should it take to soak out the starch?"</p><p>"Depends on how proactive you are about it," he says. "Put it in water, swish it around for about five minutes, strain it, repeat about six to ten times."</p><p>"Wait, <em>what</em>?" I ask, surprised. "That really makes that much difference?"</p><p>For <em>just a moment</em>, Shadow looks... pained. It doesn't change the way he sounds, as he shrugs and says, "I was surprised, too."</p><p>"Hm," Rouge says, taking a large spoon and stirring the rice. "I suppose it's a good thing I asked."</p><p>... no. I made a mistake. I made a mistake that <em>she</em> would have made. That's how we were taught to prepare the rice, all those years ago, but Shadow knows a better way now. That pained look on his face just now... I just did <em>another</em> thing that reminds him of what he's lost. For right now, for whatever reason, he needs to believe I'm a fraud. At least, I think that's what's going on. Am I really listening to him? I don't know what he needs. "To be honest," I start, "I asked for Rouge's help because I want to do something for you, and I don't know what it should be."</p><p>"You don't have to do anything," he says.</p><p>"I know you'll say that, but I also know that seeing me is hard for you. You'll grin and bear it, and ask for nothing in return, because that's who you are; but it looks to me like I remind you of painful memories."</p><p>He looks down, saying nothing.</p><p>Rouge looks worried.</p><p>I mouth "should I stop?" at her.</p><p>She gives a very helpless-looking shrug.</p><p>"I," I say, trying to briefly conclude, "I don't want to make you re-live that trauma. I don't want to make you do anything. I just... want to make this as easy on you as I can. I don't know how to do that."</p><p>"And you want me to tell you," he says, in a grim tone.</p><p>"I'd appreciate that, but... I don't want to make you do anything you're not comfortable doing. Please, don't ever let me <em>make</em> you do something you don't want to."</p><p>He turns his head up, and looks me dead in the eye. He seems to seethe with a cold, white, terrible fury.</p><p>I suppose it's for the best, this way. At least it will be over.</p><p>He tries to say something, but it doesn't come out. He turns his head down, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. He looks at me again, hesitates, and takes another deep breath. "No."</p><p>"Shadow," Rouge says, "she said you don't have to, I don't see why you're--"</p><p>"--not that," Shadow says, turning to her. "She wants me to say I'll never let her make me do something I don't want to. That's a promise I'm never going to make."</p><p>"Well, why not?" I ask, before thinking. "I mean, you obviously don't have to make that promise, I just... want to understand your reasoning."</p><p>He doesn't turn back to face me. "I like adventure, but I'm not an adventurous guy; if you give me a choice, I'd rather just stay home. The best friend I've ever had... every day was an adventure, with her. I can't tell you how many times she made me do something I didn't want to. Some of them didn't turn out well, but a lot of them did. I always took the good and the bad together, and I don't regret it." He pauses. "People try to make me do things all the time. I know who my friends are, because I <em>let</em> them. If I made that promise, we'd never be friends."</p>
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<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Friends</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I just stand there, dumbstruck, as I process what I just heard. He's open to the idea of us being friends... at least, he is, depending on a few outside factors. <em>Also</em>, he still remembers some of our less-than-perfect adventures, and he loved me all those years ago <em>despite</em> them. He <em>wants</em> friends to push his boundaries, and I've been that friend to him before, but I still don't want him doing everything I ask.... "Do you mean, if someone--even me--asked you to do something unreasonable, you'd say no?"</p><p>He smirks. "I just did."</p><p>He's right. He just proved it. It might be hard for him, but he just <em>proved</em> that he can say 'no' to me.</p><p>"Finally!" Rouge says, clapping. "Some emotional honesty from Shadow the Hedgehog! That didn't kill you, now did it?"</p><p>Shadow's expression is completely blank. "No, but now I'm starting to wish it had."</p><p>If she really wants Shadow to come out of his shell, she's definitely not going about it the right way. I'm not sure if she sees that. Without voice, I breathe the words "Rouge, I'm your friend..."</p><p>Her left ear twitches slightly, turning towards me. She looks... disappointed. In fact, she looks <em>guilty</em>.</p><p>I think she already understands what I was going to tell her.</p><p>She puts on a cheerier expression. "Aw, you know I'm just teasing you," she says to Shadow. "You're really fun to tease."</p><p>"He is," I admit aloud, "but... maybe not now, and definitely not about <em>that</em>. Otherwise, you're basically punishing him for being open, which... I don't know about you, but that's just about the <em>last</em> thing I'd want."</p><p>"All right, all right," she says.</p><p>Shadow turns his gaze halfway towards me and nods, slightly.</p><p>For just a moment, in the corner of his mouth, I think I saw a glimpse of the smile I used to know.</p><p>"To answer your question," he says, facing me, "I think you're doing a good job already. If anything, you might be trying a bit too hard to spare my feelings." He turns his back, waving a hand over his shoulder, as he starts heading back to the teleporter room. "Just do what makes you happy."</p><p>A few moments pass, and I hear the whir.</p><p>Just do what makes me happy? Well... what makes me happy? When I was younger, I would read and talk and listen, study and imagine, constantly learning new things... because it made me happy. ... Is that really what made me happy, back then? Or was it the part where I got to share my discoveries with Shadow and Grandfather, and the other people I knew on the ARK? I <em>still</em> want to learn more about the world, even now, but... if I don't have anyone to share those experiences with, I don't think it will be the same. I suppose it's friends that make me happy: friends and family. I like to share things with them, and I like to make them happy. Is that healthy, for my happiness to depend on other people like that? I spent so long alone, and I was miserable through all of it; the only thing that kept me sane was the hope of being with Shadow again. Is there something wrong with me, or is this just what it means to have friends? "Rouge," I ask, "what's supposed to make me happy?"</p><p>"What do you mean?" she asks, analyzing the rice for a moment before straining it.</p><p>"I'm not sure," I tell her. What <em>is</em> happiness? Do I remember what it's like, anymore? Have I ever experienced the actual emotion called happiness, or have I only experienced things <em>similar</em> to it and <em>mistaken</em> them for happiness? "Here's a better question: how do I know what makes me happy?"</p><p>She puts the rice back in the pot and turns on the water. She furrows her brow a bit, like she's thinking. When the rice is covered, she turns off the water and starts stirring again. "I don't know," she says, sadly. "Let me know if you figure it out."</p><p>"What about your jewel thieving? I'm guessing it doesn't make you happy, but then... why do it?"</p><p>"It's <em>fun</em>," she says. "It's exciting, but it's not fulfilling. I wouldn't say it makes me happy, but I <em>do</em> enjoy it."</p><p>That's it, isn't it? Learning more about the world always excited me, but it's not always fulfilling on its own. Maybe it sometimes is, but it certainly isn't always. When I got to share my life with Shadow... that was when I felt the most fulfilled: that's when I was at my happiest. My friends give me meaning and purpose. To do what makes me happy, I need to provide my friends with excitement, fulfillment, or--ideally--both. "Thanks; that's the distinction I was looking for."</p><p>Rouge continues to stir, idly. Several moments pass. "Maybe you're overthinking this," she says. "I know he <em>said</em> to do what makes you happy, but he probably meant to just... do the things you enjoy doing. Like that shampoo you asked for: you were really excited to get it, but you haven't used it."</p><p>I pause. "Do you really think that's what he meant?"</p><p>"For all I know, he meant to draw on the walls and jump on the couch. Still, you got out of the shower not all that long ago, and I haven't smelled any lilac on you. I'm guessing that's because you're trying to protect Shadow. I'm <em>also</em> guessing that it's not the only thing you're keeping from yourself for his benefit."</p><p>"Well, I <em>have</em> avoided bringing up certain topics or asking certain questions.... Like asking about the word 'labyrinth', or telling you about my theories on how I'm still alive. How are the tests coming along, by the way?"</p><p>"Tails said there were some interesting anomalies, and wanted to run one last test before saying anything definitive. The results should be available in the morning."</p><p>'Interesting anomalies', huh? Sounds like the buried truth, coming to light.</p><p>"I still don't really get why you're waiting on that. You two had history together: why don't you just tell him something only you would know, and be done with it?"</p><p>"Well, I have multiple answers to that question, and I'm not sure how many I can say before I forget one or two."</p><p>Rouge smiles. "Try anyway."</p><p>I smile, accepting the challenge. "One:" I say, raising a finger, "Shadow is distrustful. I never saw that in him before, but it's definitely there now. I'm not saying it's bad, all things considered; he's come by it honestly. The more I insist that I'm who I seem to be, the more likely he is to feel like he's being manipulated. That's what he was already considering, when he questioned <em>what</em> I am: you called it nonsense, but that was before you had the whole picture. I want to separate myself from that doubt, even if it means I can never reclaim the name I used to carry. I don't <em>ever</em> want to make Shadow feel manipulated, so it's important for me not to insist on anything without proof. No amount of lilac-scented shampoo or strawberry lemonade is ever going to overcome that distrust."</p><p>"That's... a smart observation," she comments.</p><p>Is it? I'm not so sure. "Two:" I say, raising a second finger, "Shadow's been hurt. Whenever he's faced with the real possibility that I might be me, it <em>hurts</em> him. Ten minutes ago, if you'd asked me why, I'd have said it was because he didn't <em>want</em> it to be me. Now... now, I don't know what to think. I still don't want to hurt him, so I think it's best to leave that bandage on, at least until the time comes to rip it off."</p><p>"Hm."</p><p>"Three: there's always the chance I might be wrong. Maybe, somehow, I'm also not who I think I am. <em>Something</em> else could have happened to explain how I exist. Shadow said that Grandfather altered his memories; if memories can be changed, maybe I was given these memories to make me a more convincing impostor. If I constantly insist that I'm really me, and then it turns out I'm <em>not</em>... well, I don't want that."</p><p>"That seems kinda far-fetched."</p><p>"Maybe so, but I like to consider every possibility," I smile. "Four: memory is tricky business. If I try to remind him of something, he might not remember it the same way I do. In fact, he might not remember it at all... assuming it even <em>happened</em>. He spent a long time in stasis, while I spent that time wandering around the ARK. I've spent more time <em>dreaming</em> since the raid, than I've spent <em>existing</em> before it. I've imagined and dreamt so many scenarios and conversations, if I pick something at random, chances are good that it <em>didn't</em> really happen."</p><p>"That's... kind of horrifying."</p><p>"Yeah, it is," I admit. "Five:" I pause. Am I really going to say this out loud? I've already said it before, but it feels hard to admit, somehow. "Maybe... maybe I don't <em>want</em> to be me. Shadow said he doesn't regret the time we spent together, but... there are things about it that <em>I</em> regret. Never anything <em>he</em> did, of course: it was always me. There are things I wish I could take back, or separate myself from. On the other side of that same coin, I still think that the girl he remembers is a standard I can't live up to. I know he said that there were bad times, too, but... I'm still worried. I'm tempted by the idea of a clean slate. I'm trying to enjoy this fresh start, for however long it lasts."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. However Long it Lasts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Hm," she says, "that does remind me of something I've been thinking about. If you want to get very far, you're going to need a legal identity. Frankly, I'm worried about what some of the GUN higher-ups might try to do if they find out who you are. You'll need a name, and one that won't turn nearly as many heads as 'Robotnik' is going to."</p><p>"I suppose 'Robotnikova' wouldn't be any better, would it?"</p><p>"It technically might be <em>better</em>, I guess, but... does <em>anyone</em> have that surname?"</p><p>"No, my mother was the last one. Gendered surnames are kind of a pain, and she decided to spare me that burden. I only know about them because I found out her name was different, and I asked Grandfather why. Regardless, I think I'll need some time to consider it."</p><p>"No worries there. It'll take time to get everything set up, so don't go thinking there's a big rush to pick your name just yet. And if you can't think of anything, the system can generate nondescript names at random."</p><p>"There's a system for that?"</p><p>"It's usually for temporary IDs, associated with witness protection. That's one of the main reasons we have safehouses: to give prospective court witnesses a safe place to stay until they're able to testify."</p><p>"And the Beta House doesn't have any external doors or windows to improve safety," I conclude.</p><p>"Exactly. We reserve it for special cases: it's sort of a plan B, if a regular safehouse isn't good enough."</p><p>"Hence the 'beta'!"</p><p>She stops. "You know, that makes a lot of sense," she says.</p><p>I laugh. "Reminds me a bit of the time I tried to find out what ARK stands for."</p><p>She laughs. "I'm guessing it didn't turn out well."</p><p>"It didn't," I say, smiling.</p><p>There's a brief pause, as the humor of the conversation dies away. "Do you really think you might not be real?" she asks me.</p><p>"I mean, <em>everyone</em> is real," I say. "Anyone with flesh and blood is real. Heck, it's the future now, there are probably people <em>without</em> flesh and blood who are real. Even so, that doesn't mean they're who they claim to be, or who they think they are. Given my memories, it seems very likely I'm the original... but likelihood is never absolute. If you really want the truth of it, there are three things I know: my grandfather was a very intelligent man, he loved me very much, and anything is possible."</p><p>"Fair enough," says Rouge.</p><p>The conversation goes quiet. Aside from the sounds of Rouge gently stirring the rice, and of the chicken sizzling away in the oven, the entire Beta House is quiet. "Do you mind if I take care of the rice for a bit?"</p><p>"Go right ahead," she says, stepping aside.</p><p>I consider doing what Shadow had said, to swish the water around instead of stirring. It doesn't take long for me to realize that the water is a lot heavier than the spoon.</p><p>"Right!" Rouge says, slapping her forehead as though she suddenly remembered something. "My point was, since we're going to need to forge you an ID anyway, you'll get the chance to change your <em>first</em> name, too. You know, if you really think you'd rather be someone else."</p><p>"Right, that makes sense," I say. "Still, I'll want some time to think about it."</p><p>"Of course. But do you really think it might help you get in good with Shadow?"</p><p>"Well... I've gotten the idea that Shadow may have made a promise to himself. The exact nature of the promise might not be set in stone, but I think it's there."</p><p>"Oh?"</p><p>"It seems like he's made a promise to avoid grief. Normally, that would mean never getting attached to anyone in the first place."</p><p>"That makes sense, with the way he keeps everyone at arm's length."</p><p>"If I want to be friends with Shadow, I need to get through that wall somehow. At first, I was thinking that he wouldn't need to <em>get</em> attached to <em>be</em> attached: I'd just need him to recognize me. I'd already be on the other side of the wall, without climbing over, tunneling through, or otherwise forcing my way in. Now, I think it'll be better--not necessarily faster, but <em>better</em>--to find another way. I do have another way in, I think: I can't make him grieve when I'm gone, if I never go. I'm immortal now, like him; when the tests come back, they should prove that. Maybe the idea isn't that he can't get attached... he just can't get attached to anyone <em>mortal</em>."</p><p>She pauses for a moment. "Is that why he likes Omega more than me?" She sounds more offended than hurt.</p><p>"I wouldn't know," I say, fully aware that the question wasn't meant for me to answer. "I don't know anything about Omega, except that the three of you work together for GUN."</p><p>"Omega's a robot built by Eggman. He's absolutely convinced that he's the greatest Eggman robot ever built, and he's kinda bitter about never seeing any action in the field. Now, he's made it his personal mission to destroy every other Eggman bot ever built, to prove his own superiority. He's <em>very</em> single-minded, but his firepower sure comes in handy."</p><p>"I suppose Shadow might feel a certain kinship with Omega, then."</p><p>"Yeah, I suppose he might."</p><p>I change out the rice water again. It's definitely not as white this time; it's coming along well.</p><p>"If I'm going to be spending any real time with you and Shadow when I'm out of the Beta House... is there anyone else I'm going to want to know about?"</p><p>"I mean, I <em>suppose</em> there's Knuckles...."</p><p>I stop stirring, and I turn to look at her. "Would this Knuckles, by any chance, happen to have any connection to the chaos emeralds?"</p><p>"Well, yeah," she says, looking surprised. "He's guardian of the Master Emerald. He's probably the worst guardian ever, but it's still fun to steal from him. Honestly, the chaos emeralds are pretty much nothing but trouble; I mostly just do it to get a rise out of him." She flashes an impish grin. "I just love driving him batty."</p><p>"And... would this Knuckles also happen to be an echidna?"</p><p>She squints. "Yeah. How did you know that?"</p><p>"My grandfather loved to study the echidnas and their way of life. He even made those blue creatures on the ARK by patterning them after an echidna god."</p><p>She shudders a bit. "Ugh, that Artificial Chaos is just so... ugh."</p><p>"Is that what they're called?"</p><p>"Yeah, the god is named Chaos, and the creatures are artificial versions: Artificial Chaos."</p><p>Makes sense. "Noted," I nod. "Either way, Grandfather wrote a book, <em>The Fourth Great Civilization</em>, about a clan of echidnas who developed the field of robotics more quickly than any other civilization in history."</p><p>Rouge raises an eyebrow.</p><p>"They were at odds with the Knuckles Clan over control of the Master Emerald, until they disappeared without any archaeological trace. After that point, the Knuckles clan always kept a 'guardian' for the Master Emerald, but I thought they went extinct a long time ago. You said 'guardian', <em>and</em> you call him Knuckles, so I figured it wouldn't hurt to at least ask. Maybe he's originally from another clan?"</p><p>"Not to my knowledge," she says. "If those giant mitts of his are any indicator, I'd say he's the real deal. Though I <em>do</em> think he's the last of his kind."</p><p>"Well, I'm sure it'll be an honor to meet him."</p><p>"A real honor," she says with exaggerated sarcasm, "<em>sure</em>."</p><p>"Oh, <em>Rouge</em>, I'm sure he can't be <em>all</em> bad."</p><p>"Well, <em>I</em> don't see the appeal."</p><p>I smirk, mischievously. "Is that really true?" I ask her.</p><p>Her expression seems neutral... more neutral than her usual expression. "It's four-thirty," she says, changing the subject. "How about you take the chicken out of the oven?"</p><p>"Mm-hmm," I say, with a teasing sort of doubt, as I walk up to the oven. The time <em>is</em> four-thirty, at the least. I put the mitts back on and take the chicken out of the oven. I look at the buttons on the oven, and it doesn't take long to figure out how to turn it off. "<em>Just to confirm</em>, I can put the oven mitts in the laundry, right?"</p><p>She waves a hand, as if dismissing the very idea that I couldn't. "Of course."</p><p>I take off the mitts as I step through the door next to the refrigerator. As I turn back, on my way out of the laundry room, I see Rouge is back in front of the rice again, facing me. I stop. "What's up?"</p><p>"I was just thinking, I've got stuff handled out here, for now. If you'd like, you could take a little time for yourself, maybe... check out your gift with a little more privacy, or something."</p><p>My heart falls. "I'm sorry, I was just having a little fun, is all. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I... I'm just..."</p><p>"Wait, what? Calm <em>down</em>!" she exclaims, stepping away from the counter. "What are you even talking about?"</p><p>"When I was teasing you about Knuckles: I went too far and now you want me to leave."</p><p>"I had <em>honestly</em> forgotten about that. I'm not trying to get rid of you; I just thought you'd want to read one of the books Shadow got you. I mean, if you're not all that excited about it, I understand. You're completely welcome to stay here and help with the rice, but I just figured you'd rather have some time alone. Some people are wired that way, and I guess I had you pegged as one."</p><p>Oh. "No, no, you're right. I over-reacted; I'm sorry."</p><p>"You don't need to apologize for having feelings, M. Maybe I should have been a bit more conscious about how you'd take it. I just meant you don't need to feel obligated to stay out here. You're free to do whatever you like."</p>
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<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Whatever You Like</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Are you sure? I mean," I ask, looking downward, "are you sure that you..." I'm not sure if I should ask about her willingness to let me leave, or her willingness to let me stay.</p><p>Rouge puts her hand on my shoulder.</p><p>I look up, and meet her gaze.</p><p>"I'm <em>certain</em>," she says, adamant.</p><p>I didn't know how I was going to finish my question. The only way she could be sure of her answer is if the question didn't matter. Regardless of what I asked, the answer would be the same. I smile. "Thank you, Rouge."</p><p>"For what?" she protests, letting her arm slip back to her side.</p><p>I can't be sure whether she doesn't know, or if she just wants to hear it. It doesn't matter to me: I've said it before, and I'll say it again. "Thank you for being here. Thank you for helping me deal with my problems. Thank you for helping us work all this stuff out. You've been absolutely wonderful, and I very much appreciate everything you've done."</p><p>She smiles, but there's something else in it. "Last time, you said 'perfect'. 'Wonderful' seems like a step down."</p><p>"'<em>Absolutely</em> wonderful'," I remind her. "The real question is whether it <em>feels</em> like a step down."</p><p>One side of her mouth stretches, perhaps a bit unsure of whether it wants to curve up or down. "I guess not," she says, settling into a smile.</p><p>I could take that at face-value, but I know she's prone to the occasional lie. She might be trying not to concern me, hiding something else. I look at her, and see a fleeting smile fading from her mouth... but no trace of it in her eyes. "Deception really isn't a good look for you, you know."</p><p>"What's that supposed to mean?" she demands.</p><p>"You're more outgoing than Shadow, but you can be just as hesitant to open up, I think. You're keeping yourself cooped up behind those walls of yours, and I'm not sure you've got anyone else to talk to. In short, it means you shouldn't be afraid to talk to me about your problems," I say, with a smirk. "If you can't talk to me, then I think you're liable to go bonkers in there. <em>Talk</em> to me."</p><p>She looks at me for a moment, shaking her head and smiling. She seems surprised, but amused. "All right, all right," she says, her voice growing more grave, "of course it feels like a step down. It <em>is</em> a step down, but I never really deserved to be called 'perfect'. It's a step down, but I deserve it."</p><p>I suppose 'absolutely wonderful' <em>is</em> a step down.... Why didn't I say 'perfect' this time? Well, the answer to that seems obvious to me, but it might not be obvious to her. "Rouge, perfection is when you do absolutely everything right, all the time. You kept it up really well, for a really long time, but everyone makes mistakes. You made a jab at Shadow that wasn't good, and that was <em>one</em> mistake--<em>one</em> mistake, Rouge. Perfection isn't just not making mistakes, either: it needs a deliberate, active effort to make things better for the people around you, to the best of your own ability. You've kept that up from the moment you first laid eyes on me. I've never seen hesitation from you about that: not for a moment. It takes someone special to put others first like that. Everyone makes mistakes. When it happens, do you know what you do?"</p><p>She looks at me for a few moments, blankly, like she's waiting for me to continue a lecture.</p><p>"What do you do, when someone makes a mistake?"</p><p>"Forgive and forget, I guess," she says. "If no one got hurt, there's no problem. Otherwise, if they feel sorry about it, then... there's no need to make a big deal out of it. You can't change the past."</p><p>"Exactly," I tell her. "So, what do you need to do, right now?"</p><p>She stops, thinking for a few moments. "... ask Shadow for forgiveness?" she asks, as though the idea were somehow nonsensical.</p><p>"No, Rouge. Shadow doesn't hold grudges against his friends."</p><p>"Then, what do you think I should do?"</p><p>"Ask <em>yourself</em> for forgiveness. You don't need to beat yourself up for being less than <em>perfect</em>. You need to accept the fact that everyone makes mistakes. If you feel sorry about it, then there's no need to make a big deal out of it. You can't change the past."</p><p>She bites her lip, and doesn't say anything for several moments. "But what if I mess up again? What if I just keep on messing up?"</p><p>"You will," I say, matter-of-factly. "Everyone messes up, and no one--not me, not Shadow, not even you--can be perfect forever."</p><p>"So I just have to accept the fact that I'm going to drive all my friends away? That seems pretty--"</p><p>"--<em>Of <strong>course</strong> not!</em> ... Rouge, if someone only stands by your side when you're doing everything right, then they're not really your friend at all. You know how to be a good person when you try. No... you know how to be a <em>great, wonderful, amazing</em> person when you try. Do you know why that is?"</p><p>"It's nothing," she says, emptily. "It's just basic kindness: respect for others."</p><p>And none for herself, it seems. "Has anyone ever really shown you the sort of kindness and respect that you're offering them?"</p><p>"There's you, and Shadow's stand-off-ish, but he tries to do right by me, when push comes to shove. But in general... not really. That shouldn't matter, though, should it? I'm not doing it because of anything they've done for me, I'm doing it because it's just the decent thing to do. If I waited for someone else to show me that kindness first, what kind of person would I be?"</p><p>She'd be the kind of person she thinks she is. No... worse. She'd be keeping a wonderful soul away from the world, out of bitterness. "Rouge, if no one ever showed you that level of kindness, then there's only one way you'd know how to show it to others."</p><p>She raises an eyebrow, waiting for me to explain.</p><p>"If it didn't come from outside, it had to come from <em>in</em>side. That wonderful person you've been for me... that's the real you. When you let your guard down, when you don't let fear drive your actions... when you 'leave the sass at the door', the real Rouge can shine through."</p><p>"Is that what you think?" she asks, grimly. "That that's the real me? That I can just <em>open up</em> and suddenly be perfect?!?"</p><p>Oh dear. I'll need to be careful about what I say next. "I don't mean to say it's easy." I feel like there was something she said to me, before, but I'm drawing a blank. "It's... hard. I've still got fears, and doubts, and it feels like they're holding me so tight I might never get away from them. That doesn't mean they define me."</p><p>She looks annoyed, and maybe a little confused. She doesn't seem angry, but I don't think she understands what I'm trying to say.</p><p>"All three of us have our own burdens to bear, and they're not all the same... but that doesn't mean they're all that different. I was just thinking, if that's how it is for me, then maybe that's how it is for you, too." Watching her face, I can see the exact moment she gets it.</p><p>"But even <em>if</em> that's the real me... how do I bring that part of me out?"</p><p>"I don't know for sure. It's not going to be easy, for either of us, but... I'm going to be here for you."</p><p>She looks at me, silent. For a few moments, she doesn't say anything. When she closes her eyes and turns her head away from me, I finally understand why.</p><p>I go to the living room, grab the box of tissues off the end table, and bring it back to her. I set it down on the counter, letting her help herself to one as I gently pat her on the back.</p><p>She dabs her eyes, expertly wicking away the tears without smudging her makeup. "Thanks," she quivers. She stops a moment, clearing her throat. "Contacts are such a pain," she says, coming back to her usual tone. "The smoke must have gotten in my eyes."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. In My Eyes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Does Rouge even wear contact lenses? She doesn't blink as often as most of the people I've met who wear them. On the other hand, maybe bats just blink less often than humans... or maybe they've developed better contacts that don't do that. Regardless, I don't believe the old 'something in my eye' line. If she has these fears built up, I want to help her deal with them. I've learned a lot in the last few days, and one of them is the virtue of crying. Still, how can I encourage that? <em>Should</em> I?</p><p>Assuming she's trying to play something off like it's nothing, there's the question of <em>why</em>. Maybe she's uncomfortable expressing herself that way in front of me. Maybe she's afraid of admitting how she feels to herself. Maybe she's so used to keeping things sealed away that she's fighting it out of <em>habit</em>.</p><p>"You don't have to fight it, you know," I tell her. "Things build up, and sometimes it's good to just... let it all out."</p><p>"I'll be fine, really," she says, smiling. The smile is meant to be reassuring.</p><p>It isn't, but I decide not to press the issue any further. "All right, if you're sure," I say. "Still, if you want me for anything... I'll be in my room." I give her one last pat on the back as I excuse myself. I take the gift from the dining room, cross the living room, and vanish into my own.</p><p>For the first time, I turn on the bedroom light. It's too white to be incandescent, but something about it lets me know it's not fluorescent, either. What kinds of lights were in the other parts of the Beta House? I didn't even think about them, so maybe they were fluorescent. Or maybe they were like this light, and I just hadn't noticed. Or--perhaps--part of the Beta House's warmth comes from the distinctive glow of incandescent bulbs. It's hard to say, since I don't plan on leaving this room any time soon.</p><p>I look up at the fixture, trying to decide if there's a way to reach it. Of course there is. I take the lamp and <em>The Life of Pi</em> off the dresser and push it to the center of the room. I climb my way on top of it, to analyze the light source more closely. Once I get my hands on it, it doesn't take long for me to realize that the cover is held in place with a decorative screw. With the screw removed, the cover comes right off. I set it down on the dresser next to me, and turn my attention to the bulbs. They're <em>shaped</em> like incandescent bulbs, but the light is too white. They don't make any noise, either, so fluorescent seems very unlikely.</p><p>Carefully, I bring my hand up to one of them, and I don't feel any heat coming off of it. I notice something strange about the shadow of my hand as it passes between me and the lights. I stop, to look at it more closely, but the strange phenomenon isn't there anymore. Moving my hand again, I can see that it's something about movement. I wave my hand back and forth. I turn my back to the light and I wave my hand again. It <em>flickers</em>. It's like the light is turning off and on, so regularly and so quickly that you can barely tell it's happening at all.</p><p>There are two lights, but the flicker is consistent--and <em>synchronized</em>--between the two. The only way to manage that is... something to do with the wiring. Faulty wires would produce a very different kind of flicker, if anything. This is more like... if the light were being created with some kind of diode, running on alternating current. Diode-based lighting? Fascinating.</p><p>Feeling that I've solved that mystery to my own satisfaction, I put the cover back over the lights and get off the dresser. I push it back into place, and put the items back on the dresser. I consider the lamp, and wonder if the light in the lamp is the same type. I have to turn off the main lights of the room to be sure, but it's not: it's incandescent. Deciding to stick with the lamp is easy enough, but I find myself faced with tougher choices to make.</p><p>What do I want my new name to be? Rouge said that Shadow has been calling me M, and she's called me by it a few times. Honestly, I think I like it. I practice introducing myself a few times, to be sure. It seems like a good nickname, but I'll need a regular name to match it: something common, that lends itself to the nickname well.</p><p>The last name, of course, is also important. I think I'd like a name that honors my family, and maybe our ethnic roots. On the other hand, Shadow and Grandfather are the only family I've ever really known. Making new surnames like that is easy enough, but there's the question of how common the name already is. Rouge can probably find those numbers for me, if I can come up with a list of prospects.</p><p>Speaking of family, what should I do about Ivo? Is there anything I even <em>can</em> do? Not while I'm in the Beta House, for sure. Maybe it's better to worry about that at another time.</p><p>For right now, I just need to decide which book to look at first.</p><p>Actually....</p><p>I quietly repeat the sound of the bird in the woods from before, to remind myself what it sounded like. Shadow said it was probably a crow, or something related, meaning it's probably a corvid. I look in the back of the birdspotting guide, hoping for an index. 'Corvus: See crow.' That doesn't seem very promising, but I suppose that birdspotting guides <em>are</em> meant to be regional. 'Crow' has five entries: apparently all subspecies of the short-billed crow. I repeat the sound again, so I don't forget. I go through the different birds, listening to their calls. None of them are perfect matches, but the Western Crow is the best match, by far.</p><p>I read the page on the Western Crow, which contains a wide variety of information about the birds. It focuses largely on where and when they're likely to be seen, but it also contains information about feeding habits. There are a few notes indicating that symbolism with the short-billed crow is often confused with symbolism from other crows. As a result, they're often associated with death and misfortune, largely due to their similarity to the Carrion Crow, which isn't native to 'the Federation'. The page also indicates that crows have 'regional dialects', meaning their calls will change depending on where they live. That explains why the call on the recording doesn't quite match what I remember.</p><p>With that particular bit of curiosity satisfied, for now, I consider my reading options again. I got <em>The Life of Pi</em> first, which suggests that I should read it first. Also, Shadow never said this one was a gift, so it would be safest to assume he'll want it back. Besides, I've been doing a lot of learning these last few days: it might be nice to give my mind a bit of a break: a story seems more appropriate than a guidebook, for that. So it is decided.</p><p>I get into the bed, pull up the blankets, and curl up with the book. I take a moment to enjoy the dry texture of the pages, the dry smell of the paper's coarse pulp, the dry sound as I turn the first page. The smell burns my nose a little, but the sensation is comfortably familiar yet excitingly new: it's a feeling I haven't felt in a long time. I clear my mind, and ready myself for a journey into the unknown, as I begin the first chapter.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. The First Chapter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Pi's story--a story that he says is not a happy one--begins in his childhood. He lived in a place that was not well-developed: a place where glass and metal are rare. His father owned a zoo, and Pi became wary of nature when he saw his father feed a live goat to the zoo's resident tiger. Pi went to a school, with other children his age, and lived a relatively normal life. It seems that, more than anything else, he liked it when things stayed the same: doing the same things, in the same places, with no desire for change or travel.</p><p>Other than that, I can relate to this boy. He has a curious mind, always looking to learn more about animals and about religion. He likes to adopt religious beliefs and thoughts for himself, reconciling them with what he already thinks, to expand and build something new. Instead of dismissing other cultures and faiths, he likes to adopt what truth he might find in them. With more detail, it seems that I was wrong: it looks like, more than anything else, Pi values stories and imagination. He sees imagination as the main tool that allows people to understand, love, and accept one another.</p><p>Of course, an unhappy story cannot be perfect forever: eventually, things change. Pi's father sees a need to move, so takes his family and a few of his more valuable animals onto a ship, to sail across the world. Eventually, disaster strikes: the ship sinks, and Pi finds himself lost, adrift on a lifeboat, and alone... except for a few of the zoo animals. Night falls, and Pi's fears about nature come to life. The hyena... the zebra... it's too dark for Pi to see anything, so the narration gets a little indirect. At the phrase 'wet mouth sounds', I decide it might be a good idea to close the book, at least for now.</p><p>I don't even bother making note of the chapter or page number. I just lie there for a bit. It wasn't that much after Shadow's bookmark, anyway. I try to think about something else, but it's not easy. It might be better to get out of the room. I'm not sure what Rouge is currently doing, and I don't want to go against the reason I went into my room in the first place. I decide to, quietly as I can, walk up and put my ear to the door.</p><p>Then there's a knock, and I just about jump out of my skin.</p><p>I take a moment, to try to calm down a bit, before I answer, "yes?"</p><p>"The rice is done cooking," Rouge's voice calls back. "Since it has to be rolled up while it's still hot, I was thinking you could help me with it." Either she didn't hear the shock still in my voice, or she decided to ignore it.</p><p>"Sure thing," I say, pausing a bit before I open the door. I walk across the living room, into the kitchen, and wash my hands. I'm... glad I don't need to eat. I suppose Shadow doesn't need to eat, either, but there's still the question of whether he wants to. It doesn't matter that much, I suppose; after all, we're not going to make him eat it. It's a gift. Sometimes, it's the thought that counts.</p><p>"Are you okay?" Rouge asks. "You seem a bit quiet."</p><p>Hm. "Really?" I ask.</p><p>"Yeah," she says, adamant.</p><p>"Huh," I say. I'm not really sure what would have given her that impression. Am I really being any quieter than normal? Is she pressing me for something? I... don't know. I start salting my hands.</p><p>"... what are you doing?" she asks.</p><p>I'm... sticking to the plan, right? "Putting salt on my hands? It's part of how you make the onigiri, remember? It gives the rice a bit more flavor, and helps to keep it from sticking to your hands."</p><p>"Yeah," she replies, "but the rice <em>just</em> finished cooking. You're going to burn yourself if you try to do it now."</p><p>I take one look at the steam coming off the rice and I realize she's right. I must still be pretty wrapped up in that book. Does it get better from here? Does it get <em>worse</em>? "I'm sorry. I'm just... thinking about the book I was reading."</p><p>"Oh?" she asks. "What's it about?"</p><p>"Well, there's a boy who's floating adrift on a lifeboat. It seems like the story is about his struggle with nature."</p><p>"Isn't that a bit... on point?" She pulls out her communicator and starts sending a message. Her ears are pointed my way, like she's still listening, but her eyes are on the screen.</p><p>"Yeah," I tell her. "Yeah, it is."</p><p>She reads something on the communicator, and asks me, "how far did you get?"</p><p>"It's... his first night on the lifeboat. Why?"</p><p>"Just wondering," she says, punching a message into the device. That's a bit suspicious, but I'd rather not think about it right now. Rouge reads one last message and puts the communicator away. "Maybe after this I can show you how to work the TV. We don't actually have cable here, so it's all on-demand; it's a bit more involved than you're probably used to."</p><p>I smile, but not quite. It's not exactly a happy smile, but it's not fake, either. It's a sort of half-smile: the sort of smile that, on Shadow, might look more like an almost-unnoticeable twitch. "I'd like that," I tell her.</p><p>She grabs a new pair of gloves from one of the many drawers, and steps into the laundry room.</p><p>I feel the air near the rice and decide I'll try to shape a rice ball. I rinse my hands, to re-wet them, and apply more salt to them before scooping out some rice.</p><p>I continue shaping the rice ball I'm working on, and it's complete by the time she comes back out, having changed gloves.</p><p>"What's the process, again?" she asks, approaching the counter.</p><p>"First, wet and salt the hands." With each step, I demonstrate the process, and she follows my example. "Then, measure out some rice: about this much. Cover the rice with one hand and <em>gently</em> press it into a triangle: if you press too hard, it can fall apart. For a little extra attention to detail, try to round out the corners to help solidify the triangle shape." I pause a moment, just to make sure she's still following. "Then, turn the rice--like this--so you can finish out the shape. Then you sort of... clasp the rice, with both hands, so none of the grains have the chance to escape. You see how the surfaces are a bit flatter, now? That's about what you're going for."</p><p>"Okay," she says, "but didn't you say there was one last thing after that?"</p><p>"Yes, good memory," I comment. "Because we're making <em>yaki</em> onigiri--because we're grilling the rice--you'll want to gently squeeze the center (like this), so there's a slight indent." I hold up the finished product for her to see, and then place it on the tray next to the one I've already formed.</p><p>She looks at the one she made, a bit hesitant. "Is this about right?" she asks.</p><p>I take it and look it over. As if by instinct, I smooth and flatten one or two surfaces. "Considering you haven't done this before, it's marvelous," I tell her. "Would you like to do the honors, or shall I?" I ask, bringing it about halfway to the tray.</p><p>"You know, I think <em>I'd</em> like to do it," she smiles, taking the rice ball and placing it on the tray. She nods in triumph.</p><p>I start on my third rice ball, and she gets to work on her second.</p><p>She repeats the steps out loud as she does them, slowly and methodically producing another rice ball.</p><p>In the meantime, I manage to produce two more onigiri, finishing off the rice.</p><p>"How's this?" she asks.</p><p>I take it and look it over. "It's <em>flawless</em>," I observe aloud. "I couldn't have done it better, myself." I take a look at the ones I'd shaped. "In fact, I don't think I've done it as well, either." I hand it back to her, for her to put on the tray.</p><p>"You're still faster," Rouge says, modestly.</p><p>I can almost <em>hear</em> Shadow say, 'speed means nothing without precision'. Of course, I <em>don't</em> hear him say it, because he didn't say it just now. Also, he's not even here. Still, I wonder if she almost-heard it, too. "I'm proud of you," I tell her.</p><p>"For making a halfway-decent onigiri?" she asks.</p><p>"No," I say. I <em>am</em> proud of her for how quickly she picked it up, but that's not why I said it. "I'm proud of you for doing a good job, taking a compliment, and still keeping a level head about it."</p><p>She smiles. "I guess now there's only one thing left to do before Shadow gets back."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'd like to thank everyone for making chapter 20 an extra-special release by getting The M Word up to 1,000 hits. Thank you all so much!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Before Shadow Gets Back</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"<em>Technically</em>, there are roughly a half-dozen things to do before Shadow gets back, just regarding the rice," I comment. "Of course, you could easily bundle them up into one thing; I'm just being pedantic."</p><p>"'Pedantic'?" she asks.</p><p>"'Pedantic': of or pertaining to..." I stifle the desire to say 'a pedant', and use "an instructor. Overly-literal in a manner usually intended (though not in this case), to be informative."</p><p>"Of course," she says with a smile. "You're just teasing because you find it fun. There's no need to worry about it."</p><p>"If you're sure," I say, looking through cabinets, finding the pan on my second guess. "I'd just imagine that it might be annoying... or that you might feel like I'm talking down to you."</p><p>She turns her head towards me, and looks up into my eyes. "I don't think you could talk down to anyone, aside from in the literal sense. You're just doing what makes you happy. If anyone's got a problem with that, they'll have to answer to <em>me</em>."</p><p>A feeling creeps across my face; I think it's a blush. 'Just doing what makes you happy'. That's exactly what Shadow told me to do, and I suppose Rouge is right: that <em>is</em> what I'm doing. With Rouge watching out for me, maybe things really can turn out well. I spent so long trying to get back to Shadow--back to the only friend I had left. In all that time, I never thought I'd make <em>another</em> friend so quickly.</p><p>Rouge finishes putting the onigiri on the pan. "You seem a bit shocked. Bat got your tongue?"</p><p>It's a silly joke, but it got me to smirk. "Just thinking. I'm... really glad you're here."</p><p>She smiles. With two fingers and a thumb, she gives a single wave, and winks.</p><p>She always looks great, but somehow... I just want to capture this moment forever.</p><p>Her smile grows broader, fuller.</p><p>We stand there a while, in silence, watching the onigiri cook. Here it is again: calm, comfortable silence with another person. It's not the spooky, painful silence the Beta House can have, either. I can hear the refrigerator, which I suppose must have been running since before I left my room. I can hear the onigiri sizzling in the oil. I can even hear the quiet sounds of Rouge's clothing adjusting itself as she moves, though barely. This is a very different type of silence. This is a good silence.</p><p>It feels nice, to enjoy this, but there's something bothering me. It doesn't feel like I've forgotten anything, but there's a nagging feeling that something is wrong: that something bad is going to happen. That, whatever it is, it's going to be my fault. I try and try to think through what it could possibly be. In the end, I can only find one possibility.</p><p>"Where is all the smoke going?" I ask Rouge. "How is the Beta House ventilated?"</p><p>"Oh, shoot!" she exclaims, pressing a button on the device above the oven. It adds its own sound to the room; it's even louder than the refrigerator. "The AC takes care of normal air circulation," she tells me, "but there's a fan in the microwave for stuff like this."</p><p>Micro-wave. It looks like a smaller version of a radarange. "Normally it heats food by screaming at it with a million tiny voices?"</p><p>Rouge laughs in a way that's not dignified enough to be anything less than genuine. "I've <em>never</em> heard it described like that before, but that sounds about right. Why do you ask?"</p><p>I smile, happy she appreciated the humor. "We had something like this in several kitchens on the ARK. They were a <em>lot</em> bigger, and we called them radaranges, but that's about how they worked."</p><p>"'Radaranges', huh? Now that's something <em>else</em> I've never heard before."</p><p>I smile, a bit.</p><p>Rouge flips the onigiri. Not too early, not too late--they look perfect.</p><p>That feeling is still there. "Rouge?" I ask.</p><p>"Yeah?"</p><p>"Do you ever get the feeling something bad is going to happen, but you can't figure out what?"</p><p>"I usually have a lot of ideas for what they might be... but yes. It's called anxiety; everyone has it these days."</p><p>"Hm," I say, not really satisfied with that answer. "I don't think that's quite it."</p><p>"Well, if you can't figure out what's wrong, it's probably best not to think about it too much. It's not like worrying about it is going to make you live any longer."</p><p>I clear my throat.</p><p>"Oh, you know what I mean," she says.</p><p>Of course I do. What do I even have to be worried about? Ever since I've been cured, the only thing I've had to fear is losing my grip on reality: was I ever really found, and am I really me? In all my years, however many they've been, I'd never thought Shadow's response to seeing me would be what it was. Somebody--something--had to have put that idea into my mind from the outside, because I had more than enough time to think of it on my own. He had to have been real... and everything since then, too. Right?</p><p>I grab the skin on the back of my off-hand and I twist it. <em>Ow.</em></p><p>It certainly <em>feels</em> real enough. So I <em>have</em> been found, or something close enough to it. In that case, I only have to wonder about myself, and my relationships with the people around me. Rouge... she always tries to put any and all of my fears to rest, and she does a good job of it. Then, there's Shadow. I do need to be careful, with him. I still don't know, for sure, how to help him through this. It hurts him to consider the possibility that I'm really me. After watching what happened to me... it might hurt him to even think he has a friend. So, I've chosen not to insist on who I really am: not without proof. When the test results come in....</p><p>Dear mercy, the test results.</p><p>What if they say I'm a fraud of some sort? What if they don't say <em>anything</em>? If donor blood DNA doesn't appear in cheek swabs.... What if the tests don't bring any conclusion to any of this? Or worse? What if the results say I'm fake, and Shadow rejects me? What if the results say I'm <em>real</em> and Shadow rejects me anyway? What if Shadow sees them, and responds even <em>worse</em> than how he did when he first saw me? I never thought he'd react that way... maybe he's changed even more than I've realized. What if--</p><p>As Rouge begins to apply the soy sauce to the onigiri, she says, "I've been watching this cooking show from Spagonia. These chefs are all trying to prove they're the best, so they have to compete by making a whole bunch of interesting food I've usually never heard of."</p><p>With difficulty, my mind switches contexts as I try to listen to Rouge and understand what she's saying.</p><p>"It's almost always desserts, but Spagonia's idea of sweets are... a bit different sometimes. I don't know if that's the kind of thing you'd enjoy watching, but there are a lot of shows on there, so it can be hard to pick something. If you want, we could watch a couple of episodes together."</p><p>"That..." I say, still a bit hazy from the brew of emotions I'd just been cooking, "sounds really nice."</p><p>"Each one's an hour," she adds, "so that should keep us busy until the shift changes."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Changes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rouge continues to talk about the show as she finishes cooking the onigiri. She talks about the competition. She talks about the food. She talks about Spagonia. She talks about the judges. She talks about the current season's remaining contestants. Her descriptions all have a certain passionate energy; I'm not sure if it's because of how much she cares about the show, or something else.</p><p>I can't help but be fascinated by it all.</p><p>When the rice balls are complete, wrapped, and in the fridge, I have a decent idea of what to expect. I need to remind Rouge to explain the process as she does it, but she turns on the television, adjusts the volume to something I can hear, and picks the show she's been watching. She returns to her position on the couch, and I once again take the seat in the recliner on its right.</p><p>The show is everything she described and more. Watching the contestants as they compete, and as they talk about the experience, I learn quite a bit. I learn about what kitchens are like on Earth. I learn about a few interesting Spagonian recipes. I learn a few things about baking. The language in the show could run rather coarse, but, overall, I enjoy myself. I get emotionally involved with the contestants, and I want to see them succeed. I can feel the stress, the drive to win, the panic and heartbreak as things go wrong... I feel sorry for the ones who don't make it.</p><p>Rouge seems a bit more used to it all, but she verbalizes her experience. She admires the talent and skill that goes into the finished products. She expresses interest in the ones with complex designs and grand decorations, even if they're not described as tasting as good as the others. She enjoys the conflict and rising tension among the contestants, expressing awe and disbelief at clever insults and inciteful responses. The way she claps and cheers, it's like I get to see a compltetely different side of her. The dynamic energy, the uninhibited emotion, the competitive edge--is this what Rouge is like, when she's not trying to make a good impression? It's far from 'ladylike', but it's beautiful, spirited, and inspiring.</p><p>When the second episode ends, Rouge uses the remote control to turn off the television. What I assume is morning light makes its way into the living room, as Rouge looks at her communicator. "Seven fifty-nine," she says, as if anticipating my curiosity.</p><p>Shadow should be here any minute.</p><p>"So?" she asks, turning toward me. "Did you enjoy the show?"</p><p>I look at her large, expecting eyes. I see the way she's leaning forwards, towards me. I look at her, and I know I can't say no. ...Why would I say no? I enjoyed the show. I enjoyed spending this time with Rouge. I enjoyed getting to see this side of her. I got to share this experience with a friend. I didn't just enjoy it: this made me <em>happy</em>. Why would I say no? I look at her large, expecting eyes. I look at her, and I know I can't say no. "Rouge..." I say, trying to buy myself a few more moments to gather my thoughts.</p><p>Her expression turns neutral. Her body doesn't shift, but it doesn't seem to have the same intent that it had before. "I just hope I didn't bore you <em>too</em> badly," she comments, as though that's why she had asked in the first place.</p><p>"Not at all," I tell her. "I was thoroughly entertained."</p><p>"But something's not right," she prompts.</p><p>"Because I couldn't say no," I tell her, hoping she'll understand why that's the problem. I'm still not sure I've put it together for myself.</p><p>"And that needs to be an option," she finishes. Her expression is still neutral--<em>painfully</em> neutral. "I shouldn't have put you on the spot like that."</p><p>I suppose this is weighing on her quite a bit. Still, she's right: that's what the problem was. Now she's closed herself off, and I'm sure there's a storm of negative emotion going on in her heart. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything. I shouldn't have said anything. Is there anything I can do to help her feel better? Is there anything I can say? I come up with some ideas, but I can't bring myself to try any of them. I'm afraid of making things worse.</p><p>After... maybe a few minutes, Rouge speaks. "Thank you."</p><p>I pause. I've done some things that she might thank me for, but... I don't know why she would thank me <em>now</em>, of all times. "For what, exactly?"</p><p>"For calling me out just now. I put you on the spot, and I made it about me. I... don't know why, but I did." She pauses. "You've been a good-enough friend to point out when I mess up, but still keep it between us. You're helping me know what I need to work on, and..." she trails off. "It takes courage to stand up to your enemies, but it takes even more to stand up to your friends. Earlier, you told me you've got my back.... I guess you meant it," she smiles, a bit sheepishly.</p><p>I'm all but entirely dumbstruck. "Of course I did," my mouth says; meanwhile, my mind is still processing the rest of what Rouge just told me. She's... okay? She's not upset? She's <em>glad</em> I said something? It seems a bit hard to believe. "I want to do anything I can to help you. I'm just... not sure I was thinking about how you'd respond, before I said something. Are you sure you're okay?"</p><p>She gives a bittersweet sort of smile. "Yeah," she says, "but it took me longer to get it than I'd like to admit. It's not fun, but... I'm still glad you did. I still think you're a good friend, and I'm glad you're here. I appreciate it."</p><p>I take a moment to decide exactly how I want to phrase my response. "I'm happy to help you, any way I can. I'm here for you, and I always will be," I say.</p><p>She smiles. After a few moments, she gets up and dismisses herself from the room. She goes through the teleporter room to one of the parts of the Beta House I haven't seen. Nonetheless, I'll take her word about where she went.</p><p>'And I always will be.' I'll <em>always</em> be here, even if she stops appreciating it. The thought floats in my mind, looming, silent: impossible to ignore. For lack of a better word, the idea <em>haunts</em> me. I wasn't careful enough. I let my guard down, and got lucky that Rouge took it the way she did. What if it happens again, and I'm not so lucky next time? What if I end up hurting her?</p><p>Shadow said, if he had made that promise, before, we <em>would</em> never be friends. He <em>was</em> my friend, once; in theory, he could be my friend again, but... for right now, he isn't.</p><p>Rouge has been a friend to me, when Shadow wouldn't. She's the only friend I've had since the raid. If I hurt her... I don't think I could take it.</p><p>'And I always will be.'</p><p>... of course I could take it. I can take anything, now. Anything short of enough to destroy Shadow's blood flowing through my veins, anyway. I can't even die of a broken heart, anymore. I'd have to live with it... <em>forever</em>.</p><p>Is that what Shadow feels like?</p><p>Of course it is. He loved me so, <em>so</em> much. He still does. The heartache, though--how does he deal with it? How is he still sane? How can I ask him to open back up to me? How could I be so <em>selfish</em>?</p><p>I can't. I can't do that to Shadow. I just... can't.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Can't</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I sit there, weighing my options. Shadow's going to be here any moment now. I'm not sure I can face him.</p>
<p>I look into my room, the door still open. I could go back in. I could shut the door--I could lock it--and he wouldn't have to see me. He wouldn't have to... He.</p>
<p><em>He</em>.</p>
<p><em>He</em> was rather torn up, last time I tried to hide from him.</p>
<p>... Why did I hide from him?</p>
<p>I was afraid, just like I am now. I don't know how much I'll be able to do, but... from what I know, Shadow would want me to be here. I'm... just going to have to keep sitting here, and bear with whatever happens. Right?</p>
<p>I don't have time to rethink my decision. The distinctive whirring hum of the teleporter echoes in my ears, lasting quite a bit longer than the sound itself. It has a certain finality, like an EKG with no heartbeat. Maybe Rouge left?</p>
<p>No. It's Shadow. He walks in, looking... bitter: a defeated sort of bitter, but bitter. One hand is curled into a fist, and the other clenches a manila envelope. We lock eyes, briefly. He nods in recognition.</p>
<p>It seems to take a great amount of effort, like my neck is moved by rusty cogs, but I return the gesture.</p>
<p>An eternity, or perhaps only a moment, passes before Rouge comes back. The way she carries herself, the expression on her face... she looks completely different, and not in a way that seems 'freshened up'. She starts, "Now, what in the <em>world</em> took you so lo--," before the envelope shoves its way in her general direction and, eventually, into her hands.</p>
<p>"Here are the results," Shadow explains, quickly sitting down on the hearth.</p>
<p>"Well, what do they say?" she asks.</p>
<p>"What else <em>could</em> they say?" he asks, grimly.</p>
<p>There have to be at least half a dozen things they could say, but I'm too afraid to point that out.</p>
<p>"Look," she says, "I just pulled a double graveyard, and my shift ended eight or nine minutes ago." She unceremoniously tears the seal on the envelope, and starts looking over the papers inside. She puts all but one of the pages back in the envelope. "You two are clearly going to have a lot to talk about. Do you need me to read this out loud?" It doesn't sound as much like an offer as it sounds like a threat.</p>
<p>"No," Shadow says. "Go home and get some sleep already. I'll manage."</p>
<p>"Okay, good," she replies. She looks over the one page some more before she sets it down next to Shadow. "And what about you, M? Are you going to be okay?"</p>
<p>"Yes, ma'am."</p>
<p>She raises an eyebrow.</p>
<p>Considering what happened last time she asked me that, I can't be certain. "I think so," I tell her.</p>
<p>"All right, then," she says. "Take care, you two." A few steps, a few keystrokes, and a few whirring moments later, she's gone.</p>
<p>Silence. For a long time, silence. He's just sitting there, silent, clenching his fists around his legs. He's not looking at the paper. He's not looking at me. He's not looking at anything. He's just sitting there, silent, steeping in anger.</p>
<p>I didn't want to put this on him. I didn't want to impose. I wasn't thinking about how it would affect him. I just wanted my friend back. I just wanted <em>anyone</em> back. I should've stayed on the ARK. I should've let the dead stay buried... but it's too late for that. "I'm sorry," I finally say.</p>
<p>"You're sorry," he replies, grim and flat. "What for?" he asks in a way that would seem, to anyone else, completely innocent. Of course, it's not a test: he's not mad at <em>me</em>.</p>
<p>I wait a few moments, to see if the question was rhetorical.</p>
<p>He waits a few moments, expecting an answer.</p>
<p>"For putting you through all of this," I tell him. "I know this is hard for you, but..."</p>
<p>He shouts something, punching the hearth. There's a loud crack; I think he broke one of the bricks.</p>
<p>I wait a few moments, afraid to say anything else... afraid of hurting him more.</p>
<p>He waits a few moments, regaining his bearings after getting that out of his system, calming down. Finally, he says, "You still don't get it, do you?"</p>
<p>I don't see what there is to get. Is there something I'm not getting?</p>
<p>"It's not about the memories," he says. "I went through this whole thing about trying to find out who I am. Shadow the Hedgehog: fierce, loyal, dutiful, steadfast and true. No matter what needs to be done, Shadow does it because it needs doing. Above all else, Shadow stands by his friends. And of all my friends...." He pauses, collecting his thoughts. "I had so long to put it together. I had all the pieces, I had everything I needed to at least get the picture. I never even stopped to make sure you really died. If the thought had even occurred to me, I wouldn't have rested until I was sure you were really gone."</p>
<p>"You had no way of knowing," I tell him. "There's no way you could've known."</p>
<p>"You always had a very open mind," he says, starting to sniffle. "Time and time again, you've shown me what it means to consider <em>every</em> possibility. It's one of the countless things I loved about you... or, at least, <em>thought</em> I did. But when I saw what happened, I just assumed you were dead. I never stopped to question it. If I'm so fiercely loyal to my friends, then how could I ever repay you with <em>that</em>? I knew I failed you once, when the raid happened... but you being alive? That means I've failed you..." he chokes out the last words, emphasizing each one: "every moment since."</p>
<p>Wow. That's.... Horsefeathers.</p>
<p>"I should've asked questions. I should've looked around. I should've done something. <em>Anything</em>. But..." he trails off.</p>
<p>"You wish you had found me sooner," I summarize.</p>
<p>"Of course," he says, as though it were somehow a question.</p>
<p>Maybe it was, a little... but a rhetorical one. "Do you remember the legend of the thousand cranes?"</p>
<p>"'Anyone who can fold a thousand origami cranes can realize their heart's desire,'" he quotes. Then, he pauses, looking right at me for a moment. "Don't tell me you actually tried it."</p>
<p>"Okay, I won't... but I <em>will</em> tell you something I realized, long ago. Anyone who can fold a thousand origami cranes can realize their heart's desire, but not because of magic. You could fold a <em>million</em> cranes, but you can't expect the <em>kami</em> to grant your wishes. The power to realize your heart's desire comes from within. If you want something done... you can sit around wishing, or you can get up and act."</p>
<p>"But it's too late," he says, looking back at the floor. "Was it all a waste? Did I waste this time grieving, when I should've been searching?"</p>
<p>"I told you before, you're allowed to be sad. The past is the past, and it can't be changed. At least, not any way I know how.... What's important is the present: here, and now."</p>
<p>"What, am I just supposed to act like none of it ever happened?"</p>
<p>"No," I tell him. "We carry our pasts with us. They make us bigger people. I think that's why it's called growing up. We all grow up. It seems like you're taking this very seriously--"</p>
<p>"--of <em>course</em> I am!"</p>
<p>"<em>And</em>, if I understand what you've said... you can't be Shadow, if I'm really..." I hesitate, trailing off, still not wanting to say it. "<em>We</em> can't be the happy pair of kids from long ago, but... that doesn't mean we can't be friends. I've... <em>enjoyed</em> the time I've had, to just be M. You haven't failed. If me being alive means that you've failed... then I must not be me." I glance at the paper, and the manila envelope. Maybe I never was.</p>
<p>"Of course it's you. It's always been you. Who else could you be?"</p>
<p>"Rouge said I'll need a new name. She also said you've been calling me M, and she's started calling me that, too. I like it; I just need something else for it to be short for."</p>
<p>"Like <em>Marissa</em>?" he asks, like it's the worst possible choice. To be fair, it probably is.</p>
<p>"That name was always a lie," I say, plainly.</p>
<p>"You don't have to change your name for me, or for the books," he says, fighting the idea.</p>
<p>I stop to think about it for a few moments. The reason I hid my name from Rouge at all, I was doing what I thought Shadow wanted. Even before then, I thought Shadow would be happy to see me again. I'm sure he is, in a way, but this is hard for him, for reasons I never even thought about. It's been hard to separate what I want from what he wants.</p>
<p>He said it before... 'do what makes you happy.'</p>
<p>"No," I say. "I'm doing it for me. I <em>want</em> a clean slate: something new, something common, something that doesn't insist on anything, a name that absolutely anyone could have. I don't know what names are common on Earth, but there has to be something."</p>
<p>"I mean, there's Emily," he says.</p>
<p>"Emily," I repeat, feeling the name come out of my mouth. It's strange... foreign... but I can get used to it. "My name... is Emily... Emily Geroldova."</p>
<p>"<em>Geroldova</em>? You've already put some thought into this, huh?"</p>
<p>I laugh, getting up from the chair. "Of course I have," I tell him. I walk across the room, to where he is, and I reach out my hand. "My name is Emily: Emily Geroldova... but my <em>friends</em>," I add, "call me Em."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Call me Em</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He looks up at my hand, but his are still firmly digging into his legs. It's something he'd do, when Grandfather talked too plainly about my condition... about how the treatments weren't working. It's something he'd do, when he was angry and didn't know how to handle it. It's something he'd do, when the emotions that he keeps bottled up would spill out. It's like a pot, boiling over: him, clawing his way through the gloves, into his own legs, or arms... that was the foam. He never did it on purpose; he never knew he was doing it until it had been done. And here he is, doing it again.</p>
<p>Once again, because of me.</p>
<p>He looks into my eyes. "What about your real name?" he asks. "Are we just... never going to say it again?"</p>
<p>"You're the only one who's ever known me by that name," I tell him. "Well, you and Ivo," I correct myself; "maybe there's someone else still out there, but it seems unlikely. I trust you, Shadow. I trust you more than I can put into words. I don't hate the name. When it's just the two of us; when things are simple, and good; when you feel that the moment is right--<em>you</em> can call me that." Something clicks, in my mind. "I'm not forbidding you from calling me by my old name, Shadow. I'm saying that I have a new name, and--regardless of whether the old name was ever really mine--I'm <em>inviting</em> you to be part of it: part of something new."</p>
<p>"You've really let this whole thing go to your head, haven't you?"</p>
<p>"You said it yourself, Shadow: '<em>every</em> possibility'." I let myself take a glance, but the paper Rouge pulled out of the envelope is face-down. "You seem so sure, but the folder was sealed when you brought it in. Did someone tell you what they say?"</p>
<p>"<em>You</em> did," he says. "Every detail, every mannerism, every memory... and as sweet as ever. I know you said Emily, but... who else could you be?"</p>
<p>"I might be a clone," I suggest, watching his expression. "Rouge said that there were more genetic markers in common with Grandfather than expected in the ancestry test; maybe some DNA was taken from a family member, to fix something wrong. You said that grandfather got so torn up that he altered your memories; maybe someone altered mine."</p>
<p>As I speak, his eyebrow lowers further. His head turns a little to the side, but his eyes are still locked on me. The corner of his mouth, I think, might've moved just a hair.</p>
<p>"You... don't even want to know <em>how</em>?" I ask him.</p>
<p>"'Physiotraumagenic regeneration'," he replies.</p>
<p>Physio-trauma-genic re-generation: physical damage causes the re-creation. I raise <em>both</em> eyebrows.</p>
<p>"The professor explained, once, why the prototype was rejected. The healing wasn't regen: just growth. When we activated the cannon, I had to <em>fight</em> the thing... it was huge. <em>I </em>have regen." His tone gets grim again. "Like I said: I had all the pieces."</p>
<p>Everyone always said Grandfather was a genius, and even <em>he</em> never considered wounding me. "You can't blame yourself, Shadow. Well, you <em>can</em>, but you're not going to get anything done like that... and I'd rather you didn't. We can't change what we did with the past, but we <em>can</em> change what we do with the present."</p>
<p>"What should that be?" he asks, sounding unsure.</p>
<p>Somewhere along the way, my arm had drifted back to my side. "To start," I say, extending it to him once again, "you can call me Em."</p>
<p>He looks down at his hands, finally noticing the edged, vice grip he's had on his legs. I can see the amount of effort it takes for him to relax, to let go. He looks up, once again into my eyes. He grabs my hand. "Okay... Em."</p>
<p>I smile, shaking his. It's not the polite smile that might be proper for an introduction; it's a <em>real</em> smile. Why wouldn't it be?</p>
<p>He stands up, pointing his feet toward the kitchen. "I understand you made something for me?"</p>
<p>"Rouge helped a <em>lot</em>," I say, as we walk in that direction. "She did most of the work, really."</p>
<p>"Hm." A few steps later, he opens the refrigerator and quickly finds the bag.</p>
<p>"You're going to eat it now?"</p>
<p>"You said 'whenever you decide to eat it', earlier, right? Any reason <em>not</em> to eat it now?"</p>
<p>"Oh," I say, a bit surprised, "I just didn't want there to be any pressure. I suppose I imagined you'd wait until you had more privacy."</p>
<p>"It's better when it's still fresh," he says, plainly.</p>
<p>I was afraid of that.</p>
<p>There's not much I can say, or do, as I watch him take the bag to the table and look over the contents. Sliced chicken, yaki onigiri, strawberry halves, and a bottle of cola. He looks at me. "You say <em>Rouge</em> had a hand in this?"</p>
<p>I nod. "Like I said, she did most of the work."</p>
<p>"But the idea was <em>yours</em>," he says, with a flat tone that simply <em>can't</em> be a question.</p>
<p>I give a couple of small-but-quick nods. "Just a small token of thanks," I say.</p>
<p>He lowers his head, <em>just</em> beyond what a nod could be, and says, "I humbly accept." The double-meaning is a bit... 'far-fetched', but it isn't lost to me. He might be a little rusty with the bilingual wordplay. Still, I can see a bit of hesitation as he takes the first bite of chicken.</p>
<p>"You don't have to," I say, looking away.</p>
<p>"Rouge <em>the Bat</em>, Rouge," he comments.</p>
<p>I don't know any other Rouges. "Yeah... why?"</p>
<p>"Because it's <em>good</em>," he replies. "I don't think I've ever seen her <em>make</em> anything, but the stuff she picks out is... rich. This is plain, simple... very unlike her. And you, from what I remember."</p>
<p>I look down. "As I said before, I wanted to do something nice for you. From what <em>I</em> remember, you like things plain."</p>
<p>He doesn't respond.</p>
<p>Why doesn't he say something? I look back at him.</p>
<p>He's just continuing to eat... <em>slowly</em>.</p>
<p>I want to know why. I want to know what's happening. I don't understand. Did I say something wrong? Does he not like it? Is he having doubts?</p>
<p>He eats more slowly. He chews one mouthful of chicken for what feels like forever. Finally, he swallows it. "You've really been alone this whole time," he says, not quite a question.</p>
<p>"Yeah," I say, not quite an answer.</p>
<p>"You spent this whole time trying to find your way back to the observatory."</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>"And when you found it, you just stood there, watching earth spin, waiting for me, for a month or two."</p>
<p>"That long?"</p>
<p>"And you didn't sleep at all, did you?"</p>
<p>"I don't think so."</p>
<p>"Then I <em>tackled</em> you and <em>screamed in your face</em>."</p>
<p>"Understandably, yeah."</p>
<p>"And now, you've decided to do something nice <em>for me</em>."</p>
<p>"Of course."</p>
<p>"And it's <em>good</em>."</p>
<p>I can't agree with that, so I don't.</p>
<p>"You're <em>that</em> worried about what I think of you," he says.</p>
<p>"You don't deserve to be taken for granted."</p>
<p>"And <em>you</em> don't deserve to be treated like some kind of <em>fake</em>. You were trapped in a waking nightmare ever since the raid, and when I finally pulled you out, I dropped you right into another one. You're messed up badly enough that you can't even see it: <em>I don't deserve any of this.</em>"</p>
<p>Rouge did say my mind was playing tricks on me because I've been alone for so long. I thought she just meant the anxiety, the guilt.... Is there something more? "But you came back," I say. "I could've waited in the observatory until the ARK ran out of markers and the windows were completely covered in ink. Rouge called it your 'usual brooding spot', because you <em>kept</em> coming back. You came back, and that's all I needed from you."</p>
<p>"It's a nice view," he says, as though that somehow makes my point meaningless.</p>
<p>"You took me for a hike in the perfect place: a place you haven't shared with anyone else."</p>
<p>"I gave you practically the worst book I possibly could've," he says.</p>
<p>... Has he read <em>The Life of Pi</em> before? Did he forget about what happens? Is there something worse, later on? My curiosity about that isn't what's important right now. "You gave me practically the <em>best</em> book you possibly could've, too. You said you used to take the good with the bad, and you don't regret it. This time... I suppose, this time, the tables have turned."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'd like to give a special thanks to MonochroMayhem, whose works, support, knowledge of Sonic lore and canon, and streaming of Shadow the Hedgehog have inspired me to write this fic and guided me through the process. If not for him, I never would have gotten the idea for this fic, written it, *or* uploaded it to AO3. Naturally, I've included several nods to him and his works (notably the Resounding Echoes works, found at https://archiveofourown.org/series/1827637) in The M Word, including the title itself.</p><p>I'd also like to give a very special thanks to you, for reading what I've written here. I hope you've enjoyed it.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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